


doesn't have to all be destruction

by spellingbee



Series: destruction [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, (the funkobra), (the starparty), Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blanket Permission, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Found Family, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Language, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Party Poison, Nonbinary Show Pony, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Podfic Welcome, Post-Apocalypse, additional and specific warnings in the notes before each chapter, mind-reading, the killjoys aren't mcr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 156,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellingbee/pseuds/spellingbee
Summary: Better Living Industries is here to help. Whether that means providing jobs, providing medication, or providing a team of specially-trained superheroes to watch over you, rest assured that Better Living Industries has your best interests at heart.That's what they tell everyone, anyway, but you don't have to look very far to see the truth behind the lies. BL/ind's army of "superheroes" is just as corrupt as the rest of the company.Party Poison and Kobra Kid managed to get out of the city before BL/ind could be made aware of their powers, before they could be forced to join the superheroes in their torment of civilians.Fun Ghoul was taken from the city before he could even make a choice one way or the other.And Jet Star? Well, Jet Star wasn't so lucky.





	1. When We Were Young

**Author's Note:**

> Week Eight babey! Two solid months of posting! Only ten more to go!!  
> I'm SO excited to finally start sharing this fic with you. I have several chapters written so far, and this fic will update weekly until it's finished.
> 
> So, this is an AU in which superpowers are A Thing(tm). The Killjoys are NOT MCR, and I've given them names. Hopefully you'll be able to tell who's who from context clues, but if you have trouble, head to the notes at the end of the chapter for a cheat sheet.  
> The names are only used during this chapter and small parts of later chapters. Otherwise, the characters go by their Killjoy names.  
> BIG thank you to my wonderful zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading this and giving me tons of inspiration. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: brief mentions of child abuse/neglect, brief offscreen deaths of unnamed characters.

When Stef and Marco Campbell first realized they had superpowers, they immediately began devising a plan to get themselves as far away from Battery City as possible, and as fast as they could.

    They were seventeen and fifteen when their powers first manifested, within a few days of each other, and they’d spent their entire lives cowering from Better Living Industries and their small army of “superheroes.” These so-called heroes kept Battery City’s civilians in line, making sure no one tried anything that might be construed as going against BL/ind and their goals. They could do almost anything they wanted, _to_ anyone they wanted, as long as it didn’t disrupt BL/ind.

    People had been captured, tortured, _killed_ , and worse, at the whims of these “heroes,” just because they had superpowers, just because they didn’t go against BL/ind’s orders.

    Neither Stef nor Marco ever wanted to become a part of that “elite team,” and they knew that if they stayed in the city, it would be only a matter of time before they were discovered and forced to join their ranks.

    Stef Campbell, who would later be known by an entirely different name, was gifted with telekinesis. They could move objects at a distance, without touching them, which proved to be quite helpful in unlocking doors and gates as they made their way through the city one night with their brother at their side. Their other ability wasn’t useful in this part of their escape, but it would come in handy later.

    Marco Campbell, who would also choose a new name later on, was able to use his own abilities to aid in their escape. His ability to manipulate and absorb sound allowed him to silence their footsteps, as well as the loud noises of metal scraping and grating against metal as his sibling led him through tunnel after tunnel. His second ability, telepathy, allowed the two of them to communicate without having to speak.

    Working together this way, they managed to escape the city without drawing attention to themselves, and made it out into the wide, open desert beyond the city walls.

    It was an alien sight to them, two kids from the poorer side of Battery City, who’d never been outside the walls, who’d never seen sand, who’d never seen trees, not in real life. Even without the sun to light up the view, it was...breathtaking.

    Still, they didn’t have time to ogle. Once they were out of the city, they had to move quickly, get away before they were spotted. They had to find the rebels, who spent their lives outside of the city.

    Luckily, this was where Stef’s second ability came in handy.

    They hid themselves away, tucking themselves into an old, rat-eaten car situated in a pile of scrap metal about a mile from the city. It was cold, the sun having disappeared hours ago and the heat of the day rapidly melting away in the moonlight.

    Marco climbed in first, settling into the backseat, and Stef followed, laying down with their head in their brother’s lap.

    “Remember,” they said, looking up at Marco, “if something goes wrong--if they find us before I get back--”

    “They won’t,” said Marco, his jaw clenched tight. He slipped his hand into his sibling’s hair, carding his fingers through their locks. “We’ll be fine, they don’t even know we’re gone yet.”

    “Still,” said Stef, letting out a shaky breath. “If they find us, you leave me behind and you run. Okay? You run in whatever direction gets you the farthest from this fucking city, and you leave me behind. Okay?”

    “It won’t come to that,” Marco said, voice hard.

    “If it does. You have to promise me you’ll leave me behind and get yourself to safety. You _have_ to.”

    They were quiet for a long moment, the only sound that of their breathing in the small space. Then, Marco said, “Fine. I promise. Just, just do it. Hurry.”

    Stef relaxed, turning their head to press their face into their brother’s stomach. “Okay,” they said. “Thank you.”

    And then they went limp.

    Or, rather, their body went limp. Stef themself was currently suspended a few inches above their own body, looking down at their own face.

    ‘ _This will never not be weird_ ,’ they thought at Marco, whose lips quirked into a tiny, rare smile.

    ‘ _Just go_ ,’ Marco thought back at them, his eyes not meeting Stef’s, as he was unable to see or hear Stef in this form--he could only read their thoughts. ‘ _Hurry up!_ ’

    And so Stef’s spirit flew out of the old, abandoned car and out over the desert landscape. They didn’t know where the rebels would be, how far they were from the city, or even which direction they would be in. All they knew was that they had to move fast.

    Concentrating, they forced their spirit to fly as fast as they could, following a road that disappeared into the distance, the sand and the rocks vanishing behind them in a blur as they sped forward.

    They couldn’t keep track of time in this form, so they had no idea how long they’d been searching before they found the first sign of a civilization. The moon has slipped below the horizon, but that didn’t mean morning was close. It didn’t mean it was far off, either, but the world was still dark around them.

    Still, it was hard to miss the fire burning in the distance, a few miles off the road. Stef immediately switched direction, flying straight toward the fire, and sank down over the top of it as soon as they were near enough.

    It was a small fire, and though they couldn’t feel temperature in their current state, they didn’t think it was giving off much heat. Certainly not enough for the number of people who were gathered around it.

    These had to be the rebels--or, at least, some of them. Stef doubted that there were only thirty or so rebels in the desert, but right now, the fact that they’d found someone--found _anyone_ \--was what was important.

    They looked around another moment, moving closer to some of the people--this seemed to be a party of some kind, as there was dancing and laughing and music of a sort Stef had never heard before--and they noticed, only a little farther away, several buildings, their windows dark, but giving the impression of housing inhabitants.

    This was it, then. They knew where to go, where to lead their brother.

    They smiled, taking one last look around, and then blinked out of existence.

    Or, rather, they closed their eyes and focused, then opened their eyes to find themself back in their body, looking up at their brother’s face. They grinned at him.

    “West,” they said. “We have to go west.”

    And so they did.

 

==========

 

    Dante Gallo’s been a monster his entire life.

    That’s what everyone’s always told him, anyway.

    His powers manifested early. Usually, if you have superpowers, you don’t get them until you’re a teenager, and certainly no younger than twelve or, on rare occasions, eleven years old.

    Dante’s manifested when he was five.

    He was too young to know how to control it, not yet focused enough to be quickly _taught_ how to control it. And of course, he couldn’t have had some nice, simple power like being able to change his hair color at will or grow fucking daisies out of the concrete or something.

    No, Dante’s power was a fucking sonic scream.

    The first time he used his power, he’d broken windows, shattered light bulbs. Somehow, his parents had managed to keep it a secret from the BL/ind agents, for a while at least.

    The second time he used his power, he’d killed three people.

    He hadn’t meant to use his power either time--he was only five, he barely even realized that what he was doing was abnormal, all he knew was that he was angry, and when you were angry, screaming was a good way to get rid of that feeling. So he screamed, and the first time, he was at home, and alone in his room. So he screamed, and the second time, he was in a car in the middle of the city.

    The car he was in was a Better Living Industries car, and the agents inside were taking him away from his parents. He screamed, and there was blood, and the car crashed and it was all he could do to get away, to run, but he didn’t know where he was or how to get home, so he sat down in a dark alley to cry.

    It was purely luck that the person who found him next wasn’t a BL/ind agent, or even just another civilian. The person who found him was a rebel, who had snuck into Battery City to steal food and supplies, and who had seen the accident.

    And so, Dante was never forced to work for BL/ind, never had to be brainwashed and forced to do their dirty work. Instead, he was taken outside of the city, out into the hot desert sands, and that was where he lived his life.

    Except, there weren’t very many superhumans out in the desert, and there was no one around who could teach Dante how to control his powers.

    Some people tried. An old woman, who had lived in the desert her entire life, adopted Dante and taught him to keep his voice down. She died less than a year after he arrived, and he went to live with some teenagers.

    The teenagers couldn’t handle him, barely knew how to take care of a child at all, let alone a child with uncontrollable destructive powers. A few months later, they sent him to live with a young woman who thought all he needed was a good beating.

    And so it went. Passed from person to person for years, until one day Dante had enough of it and just left. He was thirteen, and he didn’t need anyone, couldn’t _rely_ on anyone.

    He gave himself a new name, a rebel name, something he’d avoided doing for years out of some...misguided sense of self, perhaps. But he was done being Dante. Dante Gallo was no more--no longer existed. He was Fun Ghoul now. And Fun Ghoul didn’t need _anyone._

    Most people, out in the desert, knew who he was. They avoided him, terrified that he’d kill them with a single word, or that maybe all he had to do was look at them for his power to take effect.

    He had no family. He had no friends. He was alone.

    Fun Ghoul found an old, abandoned shack, far enough from the main rebel hubs that he didn’t have to see anyone for days at a time. He learned how to shape metal, how to fix machines, and every few weeks, he’d make the journey to the old gas station, the only place nearby that would allow him in, and trade those things he made for food and precious water. When BL/ind agents made their way into the rebel encampments, he hid himself away.

    That was his life, for years. The same thing, every day. The same emptiness of the desert around him.

    He hadn’t used his power for years. If he didn’t talk at all, if he kept quiet, he couldn’t hurt anyone.

    And he didn’t.

 

==========

 

    Two days.

    It took Stef and Marco two days to travel from the city to the place Stef had visited in spirit.

    They had food, and they had water, but they didn’t have much of either, so by the time they had arrived at the site of the campfire and dance party, they felt ready to collapse.

    “This is it,” Stef said, panting and shivering. They travelled during the night, so they could remain unseen by any BL/ind agents searching for rebels, and so they could avoid travelling in the heat of the day, but the night was still far too cold for two kids who had grown up within the climate-controlled walls of Battery City.

    “There’s no one here,” said Marco, leaning heavily on his sibling’s shoulder. He paused for a moment, concentrating. “Stef,” he said, a desperate edge to his tone. “There’s no one _here_. For miles around.”

    “But--” Stef sucked in a deep breath, pressing closer to their brother. “But, there were so many people, and...and the buildings around here. There were people inside them, I know it.”

    “Then they’re gone,” he said. “They’re not here, and we need to keep moving.”

    Stef was silent for a moment, and then they nodded. “You’re right. I’m--you rest for a bit, okay, I’m gonna do my...spirit thing. I’ll see what I can find.”

    “Sounds good.” Marco lowered himself to the ground, wincing as his legs, unused to walking such great distances, throbbed. “Fuck...okay. Come lay down.”

    Stef sat beside Marco, laying their head on his thigh. “I’ll be back soon,” they said, and then their body was empty once more.

    This time, Stef went up, and up, and up, high into the night sky, and they looked all around.

    The moon was still overhead, just starting its descent toward the horizon, and it was nearly full, so there was enough light for them to make out shapes in the desert around them.

    Straight below them was a small number of buildings, which were what they had seen before. Farther out, continuing into the west, there was nothing but sand and the occasional stray desert plant.

Behind them, to the east--they couldn’t return that way. It was where they’d come from, and would just lead them back to the city, to the servitude they had barely escaped.

    To the north, there was a crack in the earth, a canyon. They didn’t know what was beyond it, or inside it, but they didn’t think the two of them would make it far enough to find out.

    To the south, they could just make out a single shape, which appeared to be a small building. It wasn’t too far away, but they couldn’t tell from here whether or not it was occupied. Concentrating, they flew toward it, as quickly as possible, leaving their brother and their body behind.

    They still weren’t sure how long it would take to walk the distance they flew, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute of travel before they arrived at what turned out to be an old shed or something similar. They forced down their disappointment, knowing the chances of anyone being inside were far too low.

    Slowly, they lowered themself from the sky and down into the building.

    The shed was dark, and seemed even smaller on the inside than it had seemed from the outside, crammed full of scrap metal and machine parts. There was a barrel in the corner, which upon closer inspection turned out to be full of water, and Stef grinned wide. If nothing else, they could come here and get the water, take enough to last them a few more days in the desert.

    Stef turned to look around the small room again, and noticed something moving.

    They froze, just for a moment, and then moved closer. There was a pile of blankets in one corner, which they’d missed at first. The blankets were moving slightly, rising and falling steadily.

    Someone was sleeping under those blankets.

    With an inaudible shout of glee, Stef launched themself back into their body, their eyes flying wide open to look at their brother.

    “What did you find?” Marco asked, voice cracking.

    “To the south--I don’t know how far it is, but it’s not a huge distance--there’s a little shed, and someone’s living there. They have _water!_ ” Stef jumped to their feet, immediately wincing at the pain in their legs. “Fuck...come on, we’ve gotta go!”

    “It’s more than a few miles,” Marco said, taking the hand Stef offered him and standing up.

    “Yeah, I know. We don’t know exactly how far your powers go, though, so maybe it’s closer than you think!”

    “Maybe,” said Marco, but he sounded dubious.

    They set off again, the two of them, across the desert sands.

 

==========

 

    Gabriel Martín  discovered he had a superpower when his childhood bully fell down the stairs and broke his leg and both his arms.

    He was thirteen at the time, and he’d been on his way to algebra class when this kid had come up behind him and grabbed his backpack.

    Gabriel had stopped and looked behind him, and the kid had given him an evil grin and held up a pair of scissors. “Hey, loser,” the kid had said.

    Gabriel had tried to pull away. “Leave me alone, Chris,” he’d said, but Chris held fast.

    “Nah, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he’d said. Then he’d leaned forward, keeping Gabriel in place with one hand on his backpack, and he’d lifted the scissors. “I think someone needs a haircut,” he’d said, and--

    _Snip._

    A chunk of Gabriel’s long, curly hair fell to the floor, and Chris let go of Gabriel’s backpack with a loud, mocking laugh.

    Gabriel had bent down and picked up the hair, not quite processing the event, and then it had hit him, and he’d glared at Chris, and that’s when it had happened.

    _‘I hope something horrible happens to you to teach you a lesson.’_

    Gabriel hadn’t said it out loud, he’d only thought it. But it was just a moment later that Chris had stumbled at the top of the stairs, his arms windmilling as he tried to catch himself, and then he’d tumbled down the entire flight.

    There was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d only been able to look on in horror as the boy had fallen, and when people had rushed forward to help Chris, and when Chris had been screaming and sobbing from the pain.

    That was _his_ fault.

    There was no doubt in Gabriel’s mind, that he had made that happen. He had wished for something horrible to happen to Chris, and almost immediately after, he had broken _three limbs._

    After that, Gabriel was very careful about what he thought. If he got angry about anything, he immediately started thinking about things that made him happy. It seemed to work. At least, nothing else bad happened to anyone around him.

    Maybe, Gabriel had started to think, maybe it wasn’t his fault after all. It could have just been a freak accident, right? A crazy happenstance.

    And so Gabriel Martín stopped being so careful with his thoughts. He laughed at himself--to think that someone like him would have powers of any kind was funny, but to think that he’d have the power to hurt people with his _thoughts?_ Hilarious!

    The next time it happened, Gabriel no longer doubted what he was capable of.

    Gabriel’s father died when he was fourteen. He was Gabriel’s only parent, and they had been very close. It was a shock when he died, really, because he hadn’t been sick--or at least, not that Gabriel could tell.

    Still, his father died, and Gabriel was understandably upset. He felt like his heart had shattered, and that he could barely go on living without his father there to help him through the rough spots.

    Some people, however, didn’t see any reason for that kind of emotion.

    “Come on, kid,” said one man, a teacher whom Gabriel had never really liked. “You can’t keep crying like this! People die all the time, so just buck up and go about your business!”

    Gabriel had glared at him through his tears, and his anger had peaked.

    _‘If you understood how I felt, you wouldn’t say that to me.’_

    It wasn’t a particularly bad thought, and Gabriel didn’t feel embarrassed or horrified for thinking it. He had just continued to grieve for his father.

    About halfway through class, however, his teacher had received a phone call, and took it out into the hallway to answer.

    Gabriel hadn’t paid him any attention, having turned to his workbook in the hopes of forgetting his sorrow, if for a few minutes.

    But then there had been shouting out in the hallway, and the sound of a fist striking drywall, and the door had slammed open, and not even Gabriel could ignore that.

    The teenagers had all been sent to an adjoining classroom, as their teacher was leaving for the day on account of his wife unexpectedly passing away.

    Gabriel had tried to leave the city the next day, terrified of hurting anyone else--of _killing_ anyone else.

    Unfortunately, he hadn’t made it very far before he ran into one of BL/ind’s superheroes.

 

==========

 

    By the time they made it to the tiny shed, the moon had disappeared beyond the horizon and left them in darkness, only the stars overhead providing any light.

    “See?” Stef puffed, their voice quiet. “See, it...it wasn’t that far!”

    Marco grunted in response, swallowing uselessly. _‘I can tell someone’s in there,’_ he thought at Stef. _‘They’re asleep.’_

    Stef nodded. _‘They were sleeping when I was here, too. Should we wake them? Or wait until morning?’_

    Marco shook his head. _‘I don’t want to wait. But they could be dangerous.’_

_‘That’s a risk we need to take. We’re rebels now, after all! Come on--I’ll go first, you can stay behind me.’_

    Marco stared at his sibling for a long moment, then sighed and nodded once. _‘I’m so tired.’_

_‘I know.’_ Stef stepped up to the door. _‘We’ll be able to rest soon.’_ They raised their fist, and they knocked twice.

    They paused, listening, but they couldn’t hear anything from inside. They glanced at Marco.

    _‘They’re awake,’_ he thought at them. _‘They--he--he doesn’t want to open the door. He’s scared.’_

    Stef nodded. “Excuse me,” they called, loud enough to be heard from inside, but not so loud their voice would carry for miles. “We need help. Can you help us?”

    There was another stretch of silence, and then the sound of shuffling from inside. Marco put his hand on Stef’s shoulder and tugged them backward just as the door swung open, moving outward and narrowly avoiding slamming itself into Stef’s nose.

    There was a short figure standing in the doorway. He wore a dark T-shirt over a pair of cargo shorts, and he held a long, heavy wrench in one hand. He glared at them.

    Stef blinked. “I,” they said. “I--we need a place to stay. Food. Water. Can you help us?”

    He continued glaring at them, not saying anything or moving a muscle.

    Marco stepped forward, keeping his hand on Stef’s shoulder. “We’re new,” he said, his voice cracking from the lack of moisture. “We’re from the city. We--” He coughed, once, frowning, and then thought, _‘We’re like you.’_

    The boy in the doorway startled, fumbling for his wrench when he nearly dropped it on his foot. He stared at them, wide-eyed.

    Stef, who had heard Marco’s telepathic announcement, looked between the two of them in surprise. “Like--?” They turned toward the boy in the doorway. “You have powers, too?”

    The boy stood, frozen. His gaze flickered from one to the other.

    _‘We’re not with BL/ind,’_ Marco thought. _‘We escaped from them. We’re looking for the rebels, to join them. We’re tired, thirsty. Can you help us? We can help you, in return.’_

    The boy bit his lip, then took a step back and gestured for them to come inside.

    Marco gave him a rare smile.

 

==========

 

    Fun Ghoul was sixteen when he met Stef and Marco Campbell. He’d been living on his own for three years, and hadn’t spoken a single word in at least that long.

    And then, suddenly, he was having conversations with this guy in his _goddamn mind,_ and it was like taking a breath of air after far too long underwater. Apparently Ghoul had a lot of pent-up energy, and a lot of things to rant about now that he had a willing ear. Er...willing brain. That kind of thing tends to build up when you’ve spent so long alone.

    It was a few days after they first showed up that Marco finally brought it up.

    “You know, our powers...they’re sort of similar.”

    Ghoul glared at him. He hadn’t told Marco anything about his power, which meant he was either guessing or had been reading his stray thoughts. Probably the former, since-- _‘My power ain’t_ telepathy, _dumbass.’_

    Marco, sitting beside Ghoul on his workbench outside that evening, rolled his eyes. “Not the telepathy part,” he said. “I have two powers.”

    Ghoul blinked at him. This was news. He knew Stef had two powers, since they’d demonstrated both almost directly after meeting him, but Marco really hadn’t talked about himself much.

    Maybe that was Ghoul’s fault for monopolizing the conversation.

    Marco continued, “I can, like...silence stuff. Or something. And direct sounds. I don’t know the actual name for it.” He shrugged.

    Ghoul blinked again. _‘...Silence? That’s basically the exact opposite of my power, what the fuck?’_

    A smirk, barely there and gone almost before Ghoul could register it. “My point is, they’re both sound-based powers.”

    _‘Oh.’_ Silencing things was still the opposite of making noise, though. Point, Ghoul. _‘Okay, but what the fuck does that have to do with anything? I’m still not talkin’ just ‘cause you’re_ naggin’ _me.’_

    Marco turned to look him directly in the face now. Ghoul stared back at him, refusing to back down. Marco snorted. “I’m not tryin’ to intimidate you,” he said, and Ghoul scowled at him. He knew that. Duh. “I can help you control your power.”

    Ghoul froze. _‘What? No you fuckin’ can’t, what the hell?’_

    “I can. Like I said. I can direct sound. Your problem is that you can’t control what your voice affects. I can make sure it only does what you want it to do.”

    Ghoul’s eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open. _‘No...no way. That won’t work! It--fuck, I’m not gonna try it, okay, fuck off, even if you could do it--if you_ can’t _do it, then I’ll scream and you’ll fuckin’_ die _. I’m not dealin’ with that again.’_ He turned away, looking out over the rapidly cooling sands of the desert.

    “I won’t die.”

    _‘You don’t know that. Fuck off.’_

    “No, look. I’ll show you.”

    _‘I_ said, _I’m not gonna--!’_

    “I’m not gonna use your voice. Not to demonstrate. Here.”

    Suddenly, everything was silent. Ghoul had thought it was quiet before, but now he couldn’t hear anything. Marco’s breaths, his own breaths, the slight wind making the old shack creak, the insects and birds--all gone, just like that. It was goddamn terrifying, actually, even though it only lasted maybe a couple of seconds.

    When the sound came back, Ghoul had to swallow back the word that almost tumbled off his tongue, thinking it vehemently instead. _‘FUCK!’_

    “Yeah, that’s just the silencing part. The directing thing is cooler.”

    All the sounds disappeared again, but just for a second, and then a cactus in the distance exploded.

    Ghoul couldn’t help but jump back, tumbling off the bench and into the sand. “H--!” _‘Fucking_ hell, _what the fuck?!’_

    Marco leaned down to peer at him, not having moved from his spot. “See? I can make things explode with sound, too.”

    _‘Yeah, but--what the_ fuck! _Warn me next time!’_ Ghoul scrambled up off the ground, brushing sand off his clothes and frowning heavily at the amount of sand that had worked itself in, against his skin.

    “Did warn you.” Marco faced forward again. “You have more power in your voice than I do. If we practiced, we could direct your voice so it makes really big explosions, but only things you want to destroy.”

    _‘I don’t want to destroy anything.’_ Ghoul was pointedly looking up at the sky now, searching the newly-visible stars for constellations he recognized, if only to avoid looking at Marco.

    “I know BL/ind sends people out here to fight the rebels. You could fight back.” Ghoul glanced at him, and saw that Marco had tipped his own head back to look at the stars. “And who knows? Maybe your voice can do other things you don’t know about yet. Doesn’t have to all be destruction.”

    Marco’s gaze shifted to Ghoul’s again, and Ghoul’s breath caught in his throat.

    _‘Yeah,’_ he thought to Marco, _‘Okay. Let’s try it.’_

 

==========

 

    Gabriel Martín never wanted to hurt anybody. Hurting people was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do, in fact. There was enough pain and misery in this city, wasn’t there? What he really wanted to do was to help people. To help take some of that sadness and turn it into joy.

    So why did he, of all people, have to end up with a power like this, the power to hurt people? Why did he, of all people, have to end up working for BL/ind? He didn’t want to be a superhero.

    He didn’t want to hurt people.

    But it seemed like he had no choice. He’d been grabbed off the street by a BL/ind superhero with the power to read others’ abilities, or something like that, and he’d been tossed into a little concrete cell in some building he’d passed by probably hundreds of times and never even thought twice about.

    Then some BL/ind executive had come in to talk to him, told him he was “gifted,” that his power would “help him serve Better Living Industries and its loyal clientele.” They told him that he would help people. That he would be a hero.

    It was all bullshit, and he knew it. He knew what the BL/ind “superheroes” were like, he knew what they did. He knew what his life would be like if he worked for them, if he joined BL/ind. He would turn into exactly the kind of person he never wanted to become.

    But what could he do? If he declined their offer, they’d torture him. They’d brainwash him, put him through re-education again and again until he was forced to be the person they wanted him to be, forced to be nothing but a mindless servant for BL/ind.

    Forced to be a mindless killer, a mindless slave who killed with a mere thought.

    He couldn’t allow that to happen.

    So, instead of declining, he accepted their offer.

    And Gabriel became an agent of Better Living Industries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stef Campbell - Party Poison  
> Marco Campbell - Kobra Kid  
> Dante Gallo - Fun Ghoul  
> Gabriel Martín - Jet Star
> 
> This concludes the Backstory Chapter! Next chapter will dive right in to the actual plot.  
> Thank you so much for reading!!  
> Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed! :)


	2. Kill the Party Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party Poison makes good use of their powers.  
> Jet Star doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week Nine! Hell yeah!!
> 
> This chapter was fun to write. ;) We're starting the actual plot now! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> a HUGE thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for not only being my beta reader but for keeping me supplied with ideas and inspiration! <3

“You sure you don’t want us to come with you, Party?” Kobra Kid asks, quirking an eyebrow at his sibling.

Party Poison sighs, loud and pointed. “ _ Yes, _ I’m sure. I don’t wanna fuckin’ third-wheel my brother again!” They shove their foot into their boot with more violence than necessary.

Fun Ghoul, sitting tucked up against Kobra’s side, giggles. Party rolls their eyes--the bastards are probably talkin’ shit about Party in their heads again. Fuckers. 

They finish dressing and stand up, stalking to the door of the abandoned diner they call home. “I’ll prob’ly be out late!” they call over their shoulder, stepping out into the cool desert evening. “Don’t wait up!”

The door shuts behind them, muffling Ghoul’s “Bye!” and prompting Kobra to send a  _ ‘Bye, asshole, don’t die,’ _ into their head. Party sends Kobra a visual of themself flipping him off as they walk over to their car.

Their beautiful, wonderful, fucking  _ amazing _ Trans Am, meticulously painted by the three of them to be a paragon of the rebel lifestyle. It had taken all of them about a year to collect the paints necessary and to actually finish the damn thing, but it was perfect now and would always be Party’s most prized possession.

They get into the front seat and start the engine, sighing over how well it runs, as they always do. Ghoul may be a little shit and the bane of Party’s existence, but he knew his way around an engine block.

Party slams their foot on the gas and tears out of the diner parking lot, sand flying up behind the wheels. They’re heading to the bar tonight to earn some carbons.

They’ve been out here in the desert for six years now. They’ve really settled into this life, they think; it suits them better than the city ever did. Sure, they have to fight sometimes, and scrounge up food and water and whatever else they need. But they don’t have to deal with the strictly regimented life BL/ind had dictated for them back in Battery City, and it’s way easier to hide their powers here than it would have been there, too.

Not that they really have to hide their powers here. Kobra doesn’t, and neither does Ghoul, anymore. It’s just easier for Party to pretend they’re nothing special. Earns ‘em some good carbons, too, usually. 

Party’d probably get into some big trouble with a few people if anyone found out about their telekinesis, but they’re not too worried. They hide it well. Anyway, if it ever comes to that, Kobra will protect them. No one around here would go against Kobra--or Ghoul, for that matter.

The two of them are pretty much legends: To the rebels of the desert sands, they’re heroes, protectors who fight against the agents of BL/ind. To BL/ind and most of the people of Battery City, they’re supervillains, heroes who lost their way and went rogue. They’re dangerous, feared. Heroic, trusted.

BL/ind would do just about anything to get their hands on the two of them, but with the powers they have, and the way they fight together, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.

Fun Ghoul can destroy anything or anyone with a single scream--not something he does too often, but it’s happened more than once. He can also recreate any voice or sound he’s ever heard, mimicking whatever he likes, which definitely comes in handy for confusing or misdirecting BL/ind agents.

Kobra Kid has to work with existing sounds, but he can manipulate and change them at his will--volume, pitch, direction, anything. Working alongside Ghoul, he can direct Ghoul’s destructive screams where they need to go, without worrying about anyone or anything getting caught up in its blast. And, of course, his telepathy is nothing to sneeze at, either. When you can read your enemy’s mind, you can always be one step ahead of them.

It doesn’t hurt that they have an extra, secret ally, either.

Yeah, Party might mainly use their power to make money and earn a wild reputation, but they’re not just gonna leave their little brother and his boyfriend on their own to fight against those fuckers in BL/ind. It’s pretty easy, during the heat of the day, to just leave their body behind and have a look around the desert surrounding their little stronghold. BL/ind agents, superpowered or not, aren’t very sneaky when it comes to moving across the sand.

Party’s always been able to give Kobra at least a few hours’ warning when BL/ind’s conducting a raid, and so far he and Ghoul have always been able to fight them off without breaking a sweat--well, okay, so there may be sweating involved, but that’s because the desert’s fuckin’  _ hot as balls _ and those idiots in BL/ind don’t seem to realize that they’d probably have an easier time at night. Not that Party’s complaining about the ineffectiveness of BL/ind leadership, of course. They just like to insult them.

The lights of the bar are bright and shining in the darkness of the desert twilight. There are a few other vehicles parked haphazardly outside it--a couple of brightly-colored but clearly beat-up motorcycles and a car in way worse shape than Party’s precious Trans Am--and a few patrons spill out the open doors of the building, dancing and laughing in the cool air.

Party parks their car just off the road, far enough from the building to discourage any little punks from messing with their baby, close enough for a quick escape if need be, then take their time walking in. The day had been hotter than usual, the sun beating down relentlessly. It was nice to have some time out in the cool air, even with the raucous laughter from inside the bar--or maybe the laughter enhances it.

The inside is a riot of color, neon lights of every hue hanging from the ceiling and the walls. It’s busier tonight than usual--there’s maybe a dozen people dancing to the song playing from the old jukebox in the corner, and again that number standing against the walls or sitting at the bar, smoking their cigarettes or drinking whatever cordial the barkeeper has on tap tonight.

At the back of the room, the pool table stands waiting.

Party smirks and makes their way to it, pushing past a couple of kids to pick up a cue. “Who’s got first game?” they ask, turning toward the few people gathering around.

“Fuck yeah!” One of the regulars picks up her own and grins down at them. “I’m kickin’ your ass this time, Poison.”

Party snorts. “Yeah, good luck. I’m the master of the cue, remember?” They spin their cue around in an intricate loop for emphasis, and she laughs.

“Whatever. You’re gonna run outta luck sometime, Poison. And I’m gonna be here to watch it happen.”

“It’s not luck, it’s _ skill!” _ Party says in a mock-offended tone, going over to rack up the balls. They glance around again to see several more people have gathered around, watching them; Party recognizes most of them and knows they’re waiting for a chance to play against them. There’s a couple of new faces here, too, but that’s not really surprising. Party’s skills are legendary, and it’s not unusual for people to come from one of the other rebel strongholds to try and beat them.

Well, people usually come here so they can be more easily protected by Ghoul and Kobra, but then they hear about Party’s fuckin’  _ exemplary _ pool skills and then they come here to try and beat them.

They’re gonna make a fuckton of carbons tonight. The only problem is gonna be keeping their power hidden when there’s half a dozen pair of eyes on the table.

Fuck, whatever, they’ve dealt with worse odds.

“So how much we playin’ for tonight?” Party glances up at their opponent, who shrugs and tosses a handful of carbons onto the table situated nearby. 

“20 carbons,” she says. “‘S what I can spare right now.” She stretches her arms up over her head. “Gonna walk out with 40, though!”

“Ha!” Party throws 20c in as well, cracking their neck. “Overconfident much?”

“Pot and kettle, Poison. Pot and kettle.” She takes up position on her side of the table. “Now, we doin’ this or not?”

“Fuckin’ go for it!” Party stands back, folding their arms across their chest to watch. They usually let the game start out without using their power at all, and honestly they really are pretty damn good at pool--but sometimes they’re just a little behind and they’ve gotta interfere if they don’t want to starve themself--or Kobra and Ghoul--for a week.

Carbons don’t grow on cacti, after all.

The two of them play for a bit, and Party manages to win without even using their power once. Their opponent is understandably exasperated, but Party gives her a friendly slap between her shoulder blades and gets ready for the next game.

It’s another regular, and Party makes 35 carbons this time. They still haven’t used their power, a trend which continues until the fourth game, when the new guy goes to sink his 11. The 8 ball is in just the right place, so close to the pocket and so close to winning the game for Party, that they can’t help themself. 

They flick their finger--just a small movement, casual enough to an outside observer--and the 11 strikes the 8, sinking it.

Someone nearby makes a noise, maybe of shock, but Party ignores it.

“ _ Damn _ it!” The new guy looks mad enough to chew glass, and for good reason. He’d bet 50 goddamn carbons on this game. Hell yeah, Party’s gonna be eatin’ good for a while.

“Them’s the breaks!” Party says with a grin. “Good game, though. I had fun.” They throw a wink in there, too, just to add a little insult to injury.

The new guy snarls at Party, throws his cue stick down and shoves his finger in their face. “Fuck you! You cheated, I  _ know _ you fuckin’ did!”

Party doesn’t back away, doesn’t flinch. They drop their hands to their sides, move them to a ready position, and they quirk an eyebrow at him. “And just how the fuck did I do that, pally?”

“I don’t-- _ fuck, _ I don’t know, but you  _ did! _ And I’m not payin’ the carbons!” The guy’s pretty red in the face at this point, but it’s obvious this guy couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag, so Party just shrugs at him and nonchalantly walks over to the betting table.

“Oh? These carbons?” They ask, palming the notes and coins and holding them up so the guy can see. “Think ya already did, actually.” They pocket them, smirk firmly in place.

The guy looks like he wants to punch them, his fist clenched tight at his side, but then he looks around at all the people watching him, and he shrinks in on himself. He mumbles something under his breath, something Party can’t quite hear and doesn’t particularly  _ care _ to hear, and then he marches himself right out the door.

Party throws their head back and laughs. “Yeah, ‘s what I thought,” they call, then turn back to the small crowd still gathered around the pool table. “Well! Anyone else wanna play against me?” 

There’s a general noise of disagreement, and people start to shuffle away. Party shrugs, unconcerned--they’ve got over a hundred carbons in their pocket right now, they’re seriously not worried--and goes to put their cue stick away.

Yeah, tonight’s been fuckin’  _ great! _ They might even be able to skip next week with how much they’ve earned. Not that they’re averse to swinging by and playing pool, but there’s still a little too much risk in using their power like this, out in the open. No sense in chancing it if there’s no need.

They head over to the bar and slap some coins on the counter. “Pack a cigs, yeah?”

The bartender slides a pack of cigarettes to Party--hand-rolled, since these babies are strictly illegal in Battery City, and everything gets grown and made out here in the desert. They stick the pack in their pocket and give the bartender a little wave, then step back outside.

It’s much cooler than it had been when they got here, and they shove their hands in their jacket pockets, tucking their head down. It’s quieter now, too, most of the revelers having left to find somewhere to crash for the night.

The farther they get from the bar, the louder the sound of their feet, sand shifting beneath their boots. It’s not an unpleasant sound, and when combined with the sound of the soft breeze, it’s almost relaxing. 

They take a deep breath, enjoying the cool air in their lungs after the warm, smoky air of the bar, and when they reach their car, they lean against it and close their eyes instead of immediately climbing in.

Sometimes it’s just nice to have a little peace and quiet for themself. Sometimes it’s just what they need--a little time to be alone and just enjoy the world.

Party’s not sure how long they stand there, breathing in and out the clean, dry air, before what feels like a million volts of electricity shoots through their body and their mind goes blank.

 

==========

 

“Agent Jet Star.”

Jet Star straightens his shoulders and fires off a quick salute. “Reporting for duty, ma’am.”

The woman in front of him nods and taps something out on the screen hovering in front of her. “You’re to patrol Sector 3 today. Your orders are to take custody of anyone found to be violating the trust between Better Living Industries and the citizens of Battery City.” She pauses, then looks at him, her eyes hard. “Our reports state that you have not brought anyone in for re-education in three weeks. Why is that?”

“I hadn’t witnessed any crimes while on patrol during that time, ma’am.”

The woman frowns, her expression icy. She’s quiet for a moment before turning back to her screen. “I see,” she says. “Regardless, you are to bring in a minimum of three criminals by the end of the day. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Then, Agent Jet Star, you are dismissed.”

Jet Star nods once to show his respect and understanding, then turns and marches out of the room. The door closes behind him, and still he doesn’t allow himself to relax, knowing there are cameras trained on him everywhere in this building.

He keeps his face as expressionless as possible, his head held high as he moves from one hallway to the next, and finally out onto the street.

He still can’t relax, not until he’s further from the building. Sector 3 is a bit further than he usually works, and while he could always order a BL/ind car to take him there, he much prefers to walk.

Not because it’s relaxing, of course--nothing in Battery City is truly relaxing, not when you’re aware of everything going on behind the scenes--but because he wants to be monitored as little as possible. 

It isn’t until he’s walked three blocks and turned two corners that Jet Star allows himself to fall away from his soldier facade. His shoulders slump, and he ducks into an alley to give himself a minute.

Three people.

He needs to bring in three people for BL/ind to brainwash today. The chances of him actually finding someone doing something wrong--that is, doing something that hurts other people, not just doing something BL/ind regards as “criminal”--are not very high.

That means he’ll either have to bring in three innocent people, or he’ll have to undergo re-education himself. That’s a process he’s been through far too many times over the years, and every time he’s forced to go through with it, it gets harder and harder to break away from their way of thinking. He buries his face in his hands.

What does he do?

What does he  _ do? _

Jet Star takes a deep breath, raking his fingers through his close-cropped hair. Three people. Three  _ people, _ just trying to live their lives. He can’t turn them in.

But, if he goes through re-education himself, how long will he be under their direct control? The last time was five months ago, and he had only started to come back to himself a little less than two months ago. He still has no idea what he’d done during that time, has no memory of it--but he knows he’d done something, because the executives at BL/ind had applauded him as one of their greatest successes.

If he had become that significant to BL/ind in the span of just over three months, how many people had he brought in--hurt-- _ tortured _ in that time? He has no idea. 

Not for the first time, he wishes he could leave this city, live among the rebels.  _ Be _ a rebel. But he can’t. He’s stuck.

Three people.

Or three months. Maybe longer, this time.

Jet straightens up, rubbing his hands over his cheeks. He’ll have to play it by ear. Maybe he’ll luck out and find three people trying to mug someone, and he can just take them in. Or--fuck.

He’ll figure it out. For now, he has to get moving, or the tracker on his ankle will alert BL/ind that he’s late getting to Sector 3. And if that happens, then his decision will be made for him.

 

==========

 

When Party Poison comes to, they have no idea where they are. 

Their brain feels fuzzy, and they can’t really think clearly. Their limbs are all tingly, like they’ve been laying on them for a while, and--oh yeah.

They’re strapped to a chair. 

They struggle against their bindings, but they’re tight. The bindings don’t budge at all, and by the time Party gives up, they think they probably have some pretty nasty bruises on their ribs. They settle down, panting, and look around the room as they feel their focus start to sharpen.

The room they’re in is entirely white, lit by several fluorescent strips across the ceiling. The chair seems to be situated in the exact center of the room, as the walls--the three Party can see, that is, because they can’t turn to look behind them--are pretty much equidistant from them.

There’s nothing else in the room, as far as they can tell.

Fuck, they haven’t seen this much white since they left Battery City.

Their eyes widen at the realization, and something in their chest tightens. The bar, the night, the car, the _ electricity _ \--they’ve been captured.  _ Fuck! _ How long have they been out? How long have they been here? Did the BL/ind bastards get their brother, too? Are Kobra and Ghoul safe? They have to get out of here, how are they going to--

Duh. Telekinesis.

Feeling like a dumbass, Party concentrates on the bindings keeping them strapped to the chair. All they need to do is figure out how the bindings are attached, and they should be able to just nudge them apart.  _ There! _ There’s a locking mechanism on one side, and it seems simple enough to undo the catch. They flick their finger, and nothing happens.

Party frowns. They flick their finger again, focusing on the mechanism, but again, nothing happens.

Their chest tightens again, their breathing picking up. Their power isn’t working.  _ Damn it _ \--it must be a new technology of BL/ind’s, somehow blocking their power from working. 

They try again, moving all their fingers at once, concentrating, focusing,  _ wishing _ \--

Nothing happens. It’s like they don’t have a power at all.

Fuck, okay. They’re panicking. What the hell are they supposed to do when they have a panic attack?! Oh yeah, they’re supposed to relax and breathe. How the fuck are they supposed to relax in a situation like this?! Fuck, fuck, okay, calm down. Concentrate. Breathe.

They don’t know quite how long it takes, but they manage to calm themself down enough that they can think a little more clearly now. And then they wonder…

Are all their powers blocked? Or just their telekinesis?

If they can use their spirit form, they can find out if Kobra and Ghoul are here, if they’re okay. They can figure out a way out of here, maybe--a way out of the building, and out of the city. Of course, using their spirit form would also leave their body unguarded, and without Kobra here to look after them, they’re not sure if that’s something they want to risk.

Still. Do they really have a choice? It’s test their power or sit here in silence, letting another panic attack build. That won’t help anyone.

They close their eyes.

There’s a beep from behind them, followed by a  _ whoosh _ of air, and the sound of footsteps against tile. Their eyes fly open.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The footsteps stop, and the  _ whoosh _ sounds again--a door closing, Party realizes.

They stay quiet, listening.

The footsteps start again, and a person appears in Party’s periphery, moving to stand in front of them. 

It’s a man, dressed all in white, except for the BL/ind logo sewn to the chest of his lab coat. He smiles at them, then taps something on his wrist and fixes his gaze on the screen that appears, hovering in front of him and glowing a soft blue. “Party Poison, was it? That’s what Agent Volt Wave informed us.” 

Party doesn’t reply. Who the fuck is Agent Volt Wave? Party’s never heard of them. They just want out of here.

The man glances at Party again, frowns, and looks back at his screen. The screen flickers and changes to a harsher shade. “This isn’t your real name though, is it? Hmm…” His eyebrows arch upward. “Telekinesis is a very useful power. Such a shame it’s been wasted, out in the desert. Playing  _ pool? _ We here at Better Living Industries can offer you a much better outlet for your power, and a sizable payment plan as well, should you choose to join us.”

This time, Party responds. “Don’t want  _ nothin’ _ of yours!” they hiss through gritted teeth. “Let me fuckin’  _ go! _ ”

The man’s frown deepens. “I’m afraid we can’t do that. We here at Better Living Industries concern ourselves with the wellbeing of all of Battery City’s citizens, regardless of whether they live within its walls or outside them. We cannot, in good faith, allow you to squander your powers out in the desert when there is so much  _ good _ you could do here. For us.”

“Good?!” Party’s jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. “Fuckin’--are you bastards serious?” Of course this guy’s serious, though. Party doesn’t know if he’s one of the brainwashed employees or if he’s here of his own free will, but this guy honestly thinks BL/ind has the best interests of the people at heart, which is absolutely goddamn ridiculous.

“I can see you’ll need some time to think it over,” he says, and hits another button on his wrist. The screen in front of him disappears, and a new one appears on the wall behind him, directly in front of Party. “I’ll leave some of our promotional materials here for you, and I’ll return at a later time.” The man gives them a tight smile, and then walks around them again, his footsteps fading as the door  _ whoosh _ es again and he steps out of the room.

Party hears the door close at the same time the Better Living Industries logo appears on the screen, and they close their eyes.

BL/ind is going to try and start the brainwashing process by playing them the same videos they show on every TV in the city, and it just might work. But luckily, Party now knows--or at least, they have a pretty good feeling--that BL/ind doesn’t know about their second power.

They take a deep breath, eyes still closed and carefully tuning out the BL/ind jingle that emits from the screen, and when they open their eyes again, their view of the room has changed.

Party grins, looking down at their body--luckily, they just look like they’ve fallen asleep, so hopefully, if there are any cameras in here (and Party’s pretty fuckin’ sure there’s at  _ least  _ one, even if they can’t see it), the BL/ind agents watching them will just think they’ve nodded off.

They can’t be gone too long, because who knows what those bastards will do to their body while they’re gone, but they can at least figure out where they’re being kept, and whether Kobra and Ghoul are here too.

Party turns and flies out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so our story begins....
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! :) Feel free to leave a comment--I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Chapter 3 will be up next Sunday, so be prepared!


	3. When All the Lights Go Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobra worries.  
> Jet plots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week TEN! Wow, that's not a bad number.
> 
> anyway! here's the third chapter, and I think you'll like it. hopefully. hopefully you'll like it. we'll see.
> 
> as always, HUGE thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and for providing me with near-constant inspiration and motivation. enjoy your...9th (???) re-read of this chapter, ace. <3
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: misgendering (both intentional and accidental)/deadnaming.

    Kobra Kid is staring out the window, his mouth set in a hard line and his eyebrows drawn together. His eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, but even so, his eyes are starting to hurt from the bright light of the sun and the sand reflecting it.

    “Still not back yet, huh?” Fun Ghoul moves up beside him, peering outside for a moment before looking up at Kobra. “Do you think we should go look for ‘em?”

    Kobra doesn’t take his eyes off the road he’s been watching for the past two hours. “I can’t feel them,” he says, voice steady despite everything. “The bar’s not that far, and if I concentrate, I can sense where everyone is. All the rebels in our stronghold.” He swallows. “But not Party. Where the fuck are they?”

    “Maybe they went home with someone,” Ghoul suggests. Kobra opens his mouth to reply, but Ghoul shakes his head. “Someone outside the stronghold, I mean. You know there’s always newbies comin’ around to challenge ‘em and all that. Maybe one of ‘em was hot and Party went with ‘em.”

    Kobra shifts his gaze from the desert to Ghoul, who’s still watching him. “No,” he says, and his voice has an edge to it now. “No, Party wouldn’t do that without tellin’ me. They know I worry--they’d’ve thought somethin’ at me, or sent their spirit to tell me when they’d be back. You _know_ that, Ghoul.”

    Ghoul grimaces. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I just--fuck, Kobra.” Ghoul leans forward, pressing his forehead against Kobra’s shoulder. “How’re we supposed to find ‘em?”

    Kobra sighs. He shifts, pulling Ghoul in against his side. “Do you think they got caught?”

    “By BL/ind? I dunno, wouldn’t they’ve known about a raid ahead of time?”

    “Not if it was small. Not if it was a spy. Fuck, Ghoul--I knew we shoulda gone with Party last night.”

    “‘S not your fault, Kobes. Look, we’ll wait out the day, and if they’re not back by tonight, we’ll go look for ‘em, yeah?”

    Kobra’s quiet again, then he sighs, slumping against Ghoul. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

    “Good. Now, c’mon, get away from the window before you go blind.” Ghoul practically drags Kobra over to their sofa and pushes him down onto it. “Only gonna get hotter out, so get some sleep while ya can.”

    Kobra nods, sighing, and pulls his sunglasses off, letting them drop to the floor with a clatter. He stretches out on the sofa, feet dangling over one end, and looks up at Ghoul. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

    Ghoul groans, but it’s obviously for show. “It’s fuckin’ hot as hell, and you wanna _cuddle?”_

    “Don’t wanna be alone,” Kobra says again. He opens his arms.

    Ghoul sighs, then drops into them, pressing close because while Ghoul may be little, the sofa’s a tight fit for one person, let alone two. “If I melt into a puddle of sweat, that’s on you, asshole. I’m gonna haunt your ass forever.”

    Kobra wraps his arms around Ghoul, pressing his face into Ghoul’s neck. “‘S a risk I‘m gonna hafta take,” he murmurs, and Ghoul giggles.

    “Shut the fuck up,” he says, pressing a kiss to Kobra’s forehead, “and go to sleep. Fucker.”

    “Asshole,” says Kobra, but he’s smiling against Ghoul’s skin.

    Party’ll be back before long. There’s no reason to worry; they’re okay.

 

==========

 

    Jet Star sighs as he settles himself into an uncomfortable metal chair in the break room, letting his head fall back to look up at the ceiling.

    In the end, he’d chosen not to bring anyone in on his shift. He just couldn’t bring himself to sentence three innocent people to the torture BL/ind would give them. He’d rather face it himself, and after all, there’s still a chance they’ll choose to punish him with something other than re-education. Or if they do, maybe...maybe he’s built up an immunity to it, or something, and he’ll be okay.

    Yeah, right. BL/ind will put him through brainwashing again, and he’ll be their obedient little slave for months. Maybe longer. Who knows?

    If he can get rid of the tracker on his ankle, he might be able to break out of the city before then. But the only way he can do that is to get an exec to put the code in, and there’s no chance of that happening.

    They’d grab him before he got even halfway.

    He might be able to use his power to break it, but it’s so unpredictable that he doesn’t think it would be worth it to try. He’s used his power as sparingly as possible since he’d discovered it--actually, he’d probably used it all the time while he was under the effects of re-education, another reason he’s dreading that--and he still doesn’t really understand how it works.

    All he knows is that when he’s upset, if he isn’t careful with his thoughts, bad things happen.

    The door to the break room opens with a _whoosh_ , and two of his co-workers enter in the midst of conversation.

    “--can’t believe he was in the _desert!_ Think he’s one of those villains that keeps givin’ us the runaround out there?”

    “Nah, that doesn’t make sense. There’s only the two of ‘em, and they’ve both got sound-based powers. This guy’s got telekinesis, I heard.”

    Jet Star frowns. It sounds like they found someone with superpowers out in the desert. That’s pretty interesting.

    Everyone knows about Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid, the “supervillain” team who are always fighting against the BL/ind agents unfortunate enough to be assigned to the desert. Even Jet had fought them before, but they’d blown up a car and started an impenetrable sandstorm, so they’d all been forced to turn back before he could use his power against them--thankfully.

    The conversation continues.

    “Well, what was he doin’ out there, anyway? He shoulda been here the whole time, workin’ for BL/ind like us.”

    “I dunno. Doesn’t matter, anyway, ‘cause they’ve got him locked up here. It’s only a matter of time ‘til he joins us, ya know?”

    Jet Star tenses. Shit, they haven’t added a new superhero to their roster in three years. This is a big deal. And BL/ind’s already started the brainwashing process, it sounds like. Fuck.

    If only there was something he could do.

 

==========

 

    Party accepts the pill the BL/ind agent offers them only because they know she’ll just force-feed it to them if they refuse. They slip the pill under their tongue, ignoring the bitter taste, and hope that if they let it slowly dissolve there instead of swallowing it, it won’t affect them as much.

    The woman nods when they pretend to swallow, and offers them a smile. “See?” she says, tone sticky-sweet. “You’re already fitting in with us just fine, Mr. Campbell.” She reaches out and pats their cheek, and Party has to force themself not to flinch, not to tense too much. “You’ve been feral far too long, running around in the desert as you have. Don’t worry. We here at Better Living Industries will get you right back on track.” She drops her hand and presses a button on her wrist, turning the wall-screen on again, then leaves the room.

    The BL/ind jingle starts up, and Party’s head drops to their chest as their soul leaves their body.

    They’ve been here for about two days now, and so far Party’s learned a few things. Firstly, BL/ind doesn’t have Kobra or Ghoul here. They don’t even realize Party has a connection to them, as far as they can tell. They also don’t know about Party’s second power, which is definitely working in Party’s favor right now. They seem to think Party has narcolepsy or something, which is fine with them, as long as they don’t figure out the truth.

    They know they’re in a BL/ind building smack dab in the middle of Battery City, a building unfortunately full of BL/ind agents and lots of twists and turns. Escape’s gonna be difficult, but they’re determined to get out and back to their brother.

    They escaped Batt City once. They can do it again.

    Party concentrates, and their spirit flies through the wall. They’re in the hallway now, as blank and mundane as the room they were just in. They’ve been in this hallway several times now, and they’re trying to memorize its every twist and turn to make their escape that much easier.

    A right, another right, up a flight of stairs, third door to the left. Or was it the third door to the right? Fuck.

    They go through the left-hand door and find themself in a small room with three other people. Fuck, nope, it was definitely the door to the right.

    Party starts to go back into the hallway, but then they catch a snippet of conversation and pause, listening. They’re talking about _them._

    “...This guy’s got telekinesis, I heard.” One of the three BL/ind agents in this room, a tall woman with light hair cut in a bob, says.

    The man she’s standing with purses his lips. “Well, what was he doin’ out there, anyway? He shoulda been here the whole time, workin’ for BL/ind like us.”

    Ugh, yuck. They can’t even use the right pronouns in the city. Party can’t goddamn _wait_ to get outta here.

    The woman shrugs. “I dunno. Doesn’t matter, anyway, ‘cause they’ve got him locked up here. It’s only a matter of time ‘fore he joins us, ya know?”

    Party rolls their eyes. As if they’d ever join BL/ind. They’d die first, off themself before they let themself become a tool like these guys.

    The agents aren’t saying anything useful, so Party turns to go again, but then a third voice pipes up.

    The guy in the chair in the corner of the room had been silent until now. Party had honestly thought he was asleep or something, and then he says,

    “Hey. Which cell block is this guy in?”

    Party turns to look at him at the same time the other two do. Party’s never seen him before, but he’s clearly one of BL/ind’s superheroes--he’s wearing all white, of course, but the black patches fixed on his jacket designate his rank, and though Party can’t see it from this angle, they’re sure his superhero name is emblazoned on the back of it. He’s got close-cropped hair, dark and sort of curly. He looks nervous.

    “Block C-3,” says the tall woman. She frowns. “Why?”

    He shrugs. “I dunno, I just--thought I heard something about A-7. Guess it was somethin’ else. Thanks, though.”

    The woman nods, giving him a strange look before turning back to her previous conversation, but Party’s curiosity is piqued. They float closer to the BL/ind superhero, studying him.

    He’s glaring down at something on the floor, and, _oh_ \--that’s a tracking device. This guy’s got a tracking device on his ankle, which means he pissed off one too many people in the BL/ind hierarchy. Which is a very good sign, because really, the only way you can piss off anyone in BL/ind is by not blindly following their orders.

    Party likes this guy.

    He seems to be thinking about something, his lips forming a tight frown, his eyes flicking back and forth, still looking down. Then, he takes a deep breath, eyes closing, and sits up. He stands. Party watches him. They wish, not for the first time, that they had Kobra’s telepathy. They _really_ wanna know what’s going through this guy’s head right now.

    He leaves the room, and Party follows him. He’s walking confidently, head up, jaw set, but Party can still see the strain in his shoulders. This guy’s about to do something big.

    Something BL/ind won’t like at _all._

    Party grins.

 

==========

 

    Jet Star glares down at his tracker. How the hell is he supposed to get it off? He’s not gonna be helping anybody if the tracker gives them both away before they can make it out of the city.

    Because, yeah. Jet’s sick of this place, sick of the things he’s been forced to do at the hands of BL/ind, and there’s someone else here who needs out just as much as Jet does, maybe more. So, yeah. Jet’s gonna do what he can to get them both out of the city.

    If this guy really has telekinesis, he can probably get the tracker off Jet’s ankle.

    Hopefully.

    He takes a breath, letting his eyes fall closed for just a moment. If he fails, he’ll probably be killed this time. Re-education can only do so much. Even if he isn’t killed, he’ll probably end up brainwashed for the rest of his life, constantly undergoing re-education until there’s nothing left of him.

    But, fuck. If he succeeds, he’ll finally be free.

    He lifts his head, adopting his perfect-soldier facade, and leaves the room. Block C-3 isn’t far from here, just down the stairs and around a couple corners. He passes a BL/ind employee in a lab coat, who doesn’t even glance at him.

    Block C-3 consists of six cells, each designed for the re-education of citizens. Jet’s been intimately acquainted with the inside of at least three of them. Maybe four. He’s kind of lost track of how many times he’s gone through re-education in the first place, and it’s not like he gets a different room every time. They’d have run out by now.

    Five of the cells are currently occupied, and only one remains empty. If things go well, maybe he can actually get all five of these people out of here.

    If things go well. He almost has to laugh at that--he’s pretty sure his power is making sure things _don’t_ go well.

    The doors to the cells are set to open to anyone with a high enough level of clearance within BL/ind, which includes all superheroes. Jet doesn’t know which room this desert-dweller is in, doesn’t even know what he _looks_ like, but he figures he’ll know him when he sees him. As far as Jet knows, there’s only one person with superpowers in re-education right now, and that means he’ll have power-suppressants in place.

    Jet opens the first door he comes to, waving his wrist cuff in front of the sensor and peering inside.

    There’s a woman tied to a chair in the center of the room, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her, which is playing a series of flashing images interspersed with the Better Living Industries logo. He winces; she must be nearly finished with the program.

    He closes the door and moves onto the next.

    The fourth room is definitely the one he’s looking for. This person is certainly not from Battery City--or, at least, hasn’t been for a long time. Cherry red hair, clearly not natural, clearly home-dyed. The chair they’re strapped in has two little metal boxes attached to the back--those are the power suppressants, set to negate any power BL/ind sets them for. These ones must be blocking telekinesis. Luckily, all he has to do is get this guy to stop touching the chair, and his powers will come back.

    Unfortunately, this guy looks like he’s asleep--or maybe even dead. His head’s slumped forward, and as Jet steps into the room and walks around to stand in front of the chair, he sees that his chin is resting against his chest. He _is_ breathing, though, so that’s good. Now he just has to wake him up.

    Jet reaches forward and waves his wrist cuff in front of the chair’s sensors, then hits a button on the chair itself; the straps keeping the red-head in place retract, and the guy slumps forward. Jet rushes to catch him, and just as he does, the guy’s head snaps up, and Jet finds himself looking into a pair of wide hazel eyes.

    “Hi,” says the stranger, giving him a lopsided grin. “You here to rescue me?”

    “Um,” says Jet, who had honestly thought he might have to wrestle this guy to the ground in order to explain that he was trying to help him. “...Yes?”

    “Sweet,” says the guy. “I’m Party Poison, and I’m not a guy. Or a girl, so don’t ask. So, how we gettin’ out of here?”

    “Uh,” says Jet. “Um, right, we--you have telekinesis, right?”

    Party Poison nods. “Yeah? Why, is that--oh!” Jet lets go of him--them?--as they stand and backs up a step. “The tracking device, right. Here.” Party Poison frowns slightly, then makes a little movement with their hand, just a little flick of the finger, and suddenly the tracker falls off Jet’s ankle.

    Jet blinks. He looks down. Blinks again. That thing had practically been a part of him for years, and his ankle feels naked without it. He looks at Party Poison, who’s grinning triumphantly back at him. “How did you--?”

    “How’d I do that?” Party Poison wiggles their fingers. “I’m just that good, baby.”

    Jet shakes his head. “No, not--I mean, how did you _know_ about the tracker?”

    “Oh.” Party Poison shrugs. “It’s...a secret!” They throw him a wink, and Jet is bewildered. “Anyway,” Party Poison continues, “there’s prob’ly cameras in here, right? We should get going.”

    “Oh, fuck.” Jet knew he was forgetting something. There’s probably a team of BL/ind agents on their way here right now!

    He grabs Party Poison’s wrist. “Come on!” He tugs them out into the hallway, pulling them toward the hallway, then stops. “Damn it.”

    “Why’d we stop?” Party Poison leans around Jet, peering up at him. They don’t honestly look too concerned about the danger they’re currently both in.

    “Four of these cells are still occupied,” he says. “I don’t think I can get everyone out in time.”

    “Oh, fuck.” Party Poison frowns. “How fast can you undo those straps?”

    Jet shakes his head. “No, no time. Hang on. I--I’ve gotta…” He has to use his power. It’s the only way they’re both getting out of here, anyway, and maybe--maybe, whatever happens will be in his favor this time. Maybe he’ll free everyone.

    He sucks in a breath, looks at Party Poison. “I don’t know what’s about to happen,” he tells them. “So be ready for anything.”

    Party Poison wrinkles their nose. “Um. Okay?”

    Jet nods, closes his eyes, exhales. He thinks.

    _‘It would be awful if all the prisoners escaped and no one could chase them.’_

    That’s the only way he can think to phrase it. It’s still vague, but not too vague. Hopefully.

    He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, but he doesn’t hear anything--no catastrophic explosions, no smashing glass, no footsteps rushing to their location. He opens his eyes again, frowning, and looks at Party Poison. “I don’t think it worked,” he says, feeling his heart sink. They can’t stay here much longer.

    Party Poison grins. “Really?” they ask, then point. “Because if that’s not you, it’s a pretty convenient coincidence.

    Jet, confused, follows their gesture to see that the screens embedded in the walls have all gone dark. He blinks, shifts his gaze--the doors of the cells have all opened, and the screens inside have gone dark, as well.

    He grins at Party Poison. “Signal’s down,” he says, and for the first time, he thinks that maybe they can actually do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> we finally get some actual kobra/ghoul pov.....and jet and party have met......  
> Tune In Next Time for a DARING Escape Attempt. what could happen?? will they make it?? you can find out next sunday when chapter 4 goes up!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed this--I'd love to hear your thoughts!!


	4. Let the Walls Come Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Party make their escape.  
> Ghoul and Kobra take action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week Eleven! the year-long writing challenge is going well so far! only 41 weeks to go!!  
> been watchin a lot of queer eye this week. that has nothing to do with this chapter at all i just wanted everyone to know that i would die for antoni :/  
> enjoy the chapter! :D
> 
> as always, big thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and for sending me cursed images with the caption "look it's ghoul." i appreciate that. <3
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: non-graphic descriptions of violence.

Getting the people out of the rooms isn’t actually that hard. With the signal down, they just have to hit the buttons on the chairs and then yank really hard on the straps, and since Party’s got their powers back, that can be done pretty quick.

There’s a kid, probably ten years old, and a teenager, maybe about fifteen, and two adults, both women. One of them has clearly been here a while, since she follows their directions without question, with a faint smile on her face.

It’s fuckin’ creepy, and Party’s damn glad they’re getting out of here now.

“Okay,” they say to the superhero--Jet Star, apparently, unless he’s wearing a stolen jacket (which, if Party thinks about it, isn’t too far-fetched). “So, lead the way out!”

“Right,” he says, and looks over their little group. “Um. Stay close.” He starts for the stairs, long legs carrying him quick enough that Party has to jog to keep up.

“How far to the exit?” they ask, even though they already know, more or less. They keep an eye on the group following along behind them, making sure no one falls too far behind, and the other eye on their surroundings. The signal being down might mean the cameras and other surveillance devices are out, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be anyone walking the halls.

“Not too far,” says Jet Star. “We’ll have to go out the side--front entrance is too noticeable.”

Party nods. “Good plan. Hey, If someone comes, how we gonna deal with ‘em?”

Jet Star frowns. “Knock ‘em out, I guess,” he says, and they all turn a corner. 

The hallway’s still empty, but Party can hear voices on the other side of a door as they pass. The voices sound angry, and Party snorts in amusement. They’re stuck inside, it seems. They can’t open the door to come out without the signal from their wristband-things.

The thought gives Party pause. “Hey, wait,” they say. “Won’t we have to open a couple doors to get out?”

“Huh?” Jet Star looks at them, and Party sees it when the knowledge clicks. “Oh, fuck.” Jet Star stops, and turns toward the group. “Shit, I didn’t think of that.”

“Can you turn the signal back on for, like, a second and open the door and then shut the signal off again?” 

Jet Star shakes his head. “No, my power doesn’t work like that. We have to take a different route.” He frowns, a thin line forming between his eyebrows. “There’s a couple doors we could use, that open analog, but--but they’re on separate sides of the building, I don’t know which way would be safest.”

Party nods, thinking. “...You can carry me, right?”

“Huh? Um, yeah, probably. You’re pretty light. Why?” Jet Star’s got this look of confusion on his face, and it’s actually kinda fuckin’ adorable, but Party can’t think about that right now. They just grin at him.

“Catch me,” they say, and close their eyes.

It’s kind of funny to watch Jet Star scramble to catch Party’s body as it falls forward. The look of concern on his face isn’t quite as funny, though, and Party hurries to find an alternate escape route so they can get back to their body as soon as possible.

Then they realize that they don’t know where either of the doors Jet Star mentioned are, and they curse at themself before going back into their body.

They open their eyes with a gasp. “Fuck, wait, where are the doors?” they ask, staring up into Jet Star’s wide brown eyes. 

“What--? You just--you collapsed, I don’t--”

Party Poison sits up, closer to Jet Star’s face, their noses almost brushing, and grabs the lapels of his jacket. “The doors. Where are they?”

“Uh--there’s one toward the back, beyond Block C-3 and through a couple halls. The other’s on the west side, near the cafeteria. Party--”

“Thanks!” says Party, and then promptly collapses again.

This time, they can figure out where to go. They check the door behind Block C-3 first, since that one’s closer, and they see a few BL/ind agents on the way there, rushing around and trying to figure out how to fix the signal, probably. There aren’t many, and Party could probably take them out themself if they have to, but it’d be better if they didn’t have to fight  _ anyone. _

They head back to the starting point, barely glancing at their body--now being held by Jet Star, bridal-style, heh,  _ nice _ \--before heading toward the cafeteria. 

Almost immediately, they can tell this route’s no good--there’s way more people here, and in fact some of them are heading for Jet Star and the others right now. 

Party opens their eyes, nearly falling out of Jet Star’s arms. “Fuck, fuck--put me down!”

“Yeah, I--sorry!” Jet Star hurriedly sets Party on their feet.

“Gotta go back to Block C-3, there’s too many people around the cafeteria, and there’s BL/ind agents comin’  _ now, _ go, go!” Party grabs someone’s wrist--the teenager, they notice--and starts running back down the hall.

Jet Star and the others follow, and Jet Star’s long strides bring him alongside Party pretty quick. “How do you know?!” he demands. “What--what  _ was _ that?!”

“Can’t explain now, busy runnin’!” Party says, because really, isn’t this a  _ stealth mission? _ Plus, who wants to  _ talk _ while they _ run? _ Only crazy people like Jet Star. And Fun Ghoul, but that guy’s just plain  _ weird _ . They thought this Jet Star guy had more sense than that, really.

They run through Block C-3 and turn down another hallway. Thankfully, Jet Star doesn’t ask how they know where they’re going this time.

“Careful, there’s a couple BL/ind guys up ahead,” Party says. “Lab coats.”

They turn a corner and come face-to-face with the BL/ind agents, who immediately rush them. Party releases the teenager’s wrist and makes a pulling gesture with both hands--a panel rips itself from the wall and slams into both of the agents, knocking them into the opposite wall. 

“Go!” Party hisses, pushing hard with their mind to keep the panel from moving off the agents. 

Jet Star leads the others down the hallway, and only once they’re far enough away does Party release their hold on panel. One of the BL/ind agents is down for the count, but the other stands shakily, and Party throws a punch, catching her right in the temple and sending her down beside her buddy. They grin; that was too easy.

They spin on their heel and rush to catch up to the group, and--fuck, wait, do they turn left or right? Damn it! They should have paid more attention when they flew down here earlier--but, no, they look to the left and just catch a glimpse of the kid turning yet another corner.

Party turns up their speed, ignoring the ache in their knees and their lungs--the group’s almost up to the next group of BL/ind agents.

They can hear the fighting before they see it, and when they  _ do _ see it, well--they’re impressed.

Jet Star’s got one guy in a headlock, and the teenager’s going head-to-head with a big monster of a man--and winning, too, it looks like. There’s a third guy coming up behind Jet Star, so Party quickly brings a light down on top of the guy, and then, just because they can, smacks him in the head with it until all the glass is gone.

In the meantime, Jet Star seems to have rendered his opponent unconscious, and the big dude is in pretty sorry shape too, so the flight resumes.

“It’s just down here--second door,” Jet Star says, sounding a little out of breath, and Party nods. They race ahead, grab the door handle, and pull it open.

It’s brighter outside than inside, but the light out here is natural, and Party grins to see it. They turn toward the group. “C’mon, go! We gotta get to the gates!”

Everyone spills out of the building, and Jet Star grabs Party by the sleeve of their jacket. “We can’t make a beeline for the gates,” he says. “There’s agents in the streets, plainclothes and--”

“Yeah, I get it,” Party says. “You got a route?”

“No,” says Jet, and he sounds scared. “I don’t--it changes all the time, I don’t know--”

“It’s fine,” Party says. “I know a way. Or, well, it was a way six years ago. C’mon.”

Party leads Jet Star into an alleyway. The four prisoners they’d rescued have run off--Party hopes they make it somewhere safe, but they can’t go chase ‘em down to make sure. 

This isn’t the same alley Party had led Kobra down back then, but they know it leads to the same place.

They’re going back down into the maintenance tunnels.

 

==========

 

Party doesn’t come back at all that day, and now Kobra’s so stiff with nerves that he barely budges when Ghoul shoves him out the door that evening.

“Where are they?” he mumbles at Ghoul. “Fuck, Ghoul, where  _ are _ they?”

“They’re okay, Kobra,” Ghoul says, wrapping Kobra’s arm around his own shoulders as they walk. “C’mon, Kobes, don’t make me do all the work. You’re like twice my height, I can’t drag your ass all the way to the bar. Help me out!”

Kobra grumbles, then sighs and straightens up, walking beside Ghoul. They’re heading for the bar Party frequents, the one they’d gone to last night. They’re both hoping that someone there can give them some information on Party’s whereabouts, and though Kobra feels consumed by his anxiety, knows Ghoul feels almost the same, he’s also picking up on the calming thoughts Ghoul’s sending his way. 

They don’t help, but it’s nice that he’s trying.

The walk to the bar doesn’t take all that long, although it’s certainly longer than it would be with the car. Which Party had last.

And which is currently sitting parked in the sand near the bar, with two of the windows busted out and a dent in one door.

Kobra freezes in place, staring at the car. His mind is racing, moving through possibilities one after the other, all the reasons why Party would leave their most prized goddamn possession here and let it get into this shape rolling around in his head until it’s all a jumbled mess. His vision narrows to just that, to just the car, to the smashed glass scattered around and making the sand sparkle, to that damn dent--doesn’t it look like it could have been formed when a head slammed into it? What if that was  _ Party’s _ head, what if someone had attacked them--what if BL/ind had gotten ahold of them, smashed their skull into the car door, what if they’d taken Party, what if they were already dead, what if, what if,  _ what if- _ -

“-ra. Kobra.  _ Kobra!”  _

Kobra hadn’t realized they were breathing so hard, hadn’t noticed the ringing in his ears, hadn’t noticed the edges of his vision turning black, until Ghoul is there, standing in front of him and staring into his eyes, his hands gripping Kobra’s shoulders tightly.

“Kobra,” he says again, and Kobra swallows hard.

“Where are they, Ghoul,” he says more than asks, voice hoarse.

“I don’t know,” Ghoul says honestly. “I dunno, Kobra, but we’ll find ‘em. Don’t--don’t fuckin’ panic, okay, you were broadcastin’ it--”

“Shit,” says Kobra, “sorry, didn’t mean to--”

“Shut up.” Ghoul’s hand moves down to grab Kobra’s, and he squeezes his hand once, twice--calming, reassuring. “We’re gonna find ‘em. Let’s go inside and ask the barkeep. Maybe he heard somethin’.”

Kobra nods, takes a deep breath and squeezes Ghoul’s hand in return. Party’s okay. They’re okay. They’ve gotta be.

 

==========

 

The barkeeper doesn’t know anything. “The car was still here when I left,” he says, polishing a grimy glass with an even grimier cloth. “Didn’t think much of it. Stuff gets left here all the time.” He shrugs.

Ghoul clenches his fists, leaning forward across the bar to glare at the barkeeper. “Fuckin’-- _ Party Poison _ wouldn’t leave their fuckin’ car here, and you  _ know _ that! What the fuck happened to ‘em?!”

The barkeeper backs up a step, setting the glass and cloth down on a shelf beneath the bar. “Dunno,” he says. “I  _ don’t!” _ he insists as Ghoul lunges toward him again, grabbing at the front of his shirt. “Look, the car was still here when I left, but the windows weren’t smashed ‘til I got back tonight, yeah? Prob’ly some kids havin’ fun. I dunno where your friend’s at, ask someone else!”

Ghoul releases him, settling back onto his bar stool. “Fine,” he says. “Look, if Party shows back up, tell ‘em Kobra ‘n’ me’re lookin’ for ‘em, yeah?”

The barkeeper waves a hand at Ghoul. “Yeah, fine. Will do. Just--if you’re not buyin’, don’t stay long, yeah?”

“Fuck off,” Ghoul sneers, and then pushes away from the bar to go find Kobra. Ghoul’s fighting to keep his thoughts positive, because Kobra picks up on Ghoul’s emotions without even really trying anymore, and he really doesn’t need Ghoul’s worry weighing him down more than his own already is. 

Kobra’s standing in a corner of the room, leaning against one wall and staring at the pool table at the back. He doesn’t look at Ghoul, but he says, “Didn’t find anything, huh?”

“Just that the windows weren’t smashed ‘til after Party disappeared. You?” Ghoul asks it more as a courtesy than anything else--obviously, if Kobra had found something out, he’d have said something immediately.

Kobra shakes his head. “No one saw anythin’,” he says. “Party came in, won a couple games--had a fight with someone, but a couple people saw that guy leave before Party did and he didn’t come back--but then they left, and no one saw anything after that.”

“And it wasn’t that guy? Are ya sure?”

“Pretty sure. He hasn’t been back tonight, though. So...I dunno.” Kobra’s frowning, an ghoul can feel him starting to panic again, so he puts his hand on Kobra’s elbow, tugging until he looks down at him.

“Hey,” he says. “Let’s take the car. We’ll go find ‘em.”

“Where?” Kobra asks. “Where--Ghoul. Ghoul, they could be anywhere.”

And this is what Ghoul wanted to avoid. Because everyone out here knows who Ghoul and Kobra are. They know what they do for the rebels. And they know what Party means to the two of them, even if they don’t know what Party does behind the scenes. It wasn’t any of the rebels who took Party, and Party certainly didn’t go off alone.

Ghoul and Kobra both know who took Party, and they know what they have to do to get them back.

Ghoul looks up at Kobra, his jaw set, and he nods. “We’re going to Battery City.”

 

==========

 

The maintenance tunnels are poorly-lit, badly-maintained, and kinda fuckin’  _ gross, _ if Jet Star’s honest.

He’s never been down here before, never had reason to be down here, and he has to admit it’s a pretty good escape route. There aren’t too many people down here, most of the time, and the narrow passageways make it easy enough to keep track of each other, with Party Poison in the lead and Jet Star right behind them.

Still, if it does come to a fight, it’s gonna be tough in close quarters like this. Maybe Party Poison will be okay like this, with their telekinesis, but Jet can’t risk using his power, and his fighting skills, while better than average, aren’t something he feels completely comfortable relying on down here.

Jet’s not sure how far out he was able to shut off the signal, either, so he doesn’t know if they’re being watched or not. It’s an unsettling feeling: for almost ten years, he’s always known he’s being watched, and acted accordingly. Now that he isn’t sure, it’s...different. Almost scarier, somehow.

He knows he doesn’t have to act anymore, because even if BL/ind  _ is _ watching him, they already know what he’s doing. They know he’s disobeying orders. He won’t live through this.

And if they  _ aren’t _ watching him, then this...well, he honestly can’t really comprehend that thought. Maybe that’s why it’s so unsettling: he’s never had the chance to exist as himself, and he isn’t even sure who he _ is. _

Fuck, that’s a thought to ponder later, when they’re out of here. He has to focus now. Focus on getting them both out of the city.

Up ahead, Party Poison comes to a fork in the road. “Fuck,” they say, looking both ways before turning around. “Any chance you know which way to go?”

Jet frowns. “Never been down here,” he says. “The gates are to the north and south, though, and we’ve been going…” he thinks for a moment. “...Southwest, I think? So try that one.” He points to the right-hand tunnel, and Party Poison looks at him, frowning.

“Hm,” they say. “You sure?”

“No,” says Jet Star, “but unless you wanna do that fainting thing again and figure out a better path, it’s all we’ve got.”

Party Poison beams at him. “Great idea!” they say. “Hey, carry me down the right tunnel for a while, okay? I’m gonna scout ahead, but we need to keep movin’.”

Jet still has no idea what this power of Party Poison’s is, but he supposes that’s not a big deal at the moment, and really, they do need to keep moving. He sighs and nods, holding his arms open. “Okay,” he says. “Go for it.”

They wink at him, lean against him, and sag. Jet Star has a hold of them this time, and he hefts them into his arms. “Okay,” he says, unsure who he’s talking to. “Stay safe.”

He carries Party Poison into the tunnel.

 

==========

Party barely stays to make sure Jet Star doesn’t drop their body before flying off down the right tunnel. This whole thing is eerily similar to when they’d escaped with their brother six years ago; the maintenance tunnels were cleaner back then, though. Less cluttered, too. They wonder what happened in the meantime.

The tunnel is clear for a good long while, and Party periodically moves up to the surface, onto the streets of Battery City, to see where they are. It looks like Jet Star was right--this tunnel is taking them directly to the city gates, the very gates Party and Kobra left through back then.

They wonder, briefly, how Kobra’s holding up. They know he’s gotta be out of his goddamn mind with worry. Fuck, they haven’t been apart for longer than a few hours in their  _ entire lives! _ Hopefully Ghoul’s taking care of him.

And, shit--how long will it take for them to get back home? Maybe they can pop in real quick and let Kobra know they’re okay. Maybe they can get Kobra to come meet them partway with the car, and they can get to safety that much quicker.

That’s actually a goddamn good idea, so Party jumps back into their body, almost knocking Jet Star over when they startle back to life. “Hey--no,  _ no, _ don’t set me down! Fuck. I gotta go get backup, okay, the way’s clear, keep headin’ down this tunnel. I’ll be back before you get to the gates!” Probably.

Jet Star stares at them, eyes wide. “I--”

“Also, don’t fuckin’ carry me like a goddamn  _ princess, _ it’s shit on your back. Throw me over your shoulder like a sack’a potatoes, it’s easier!” They leave their body again and concentrate, focus,  _ push _ themself out of the tunnel, out of the city, into the desert.

Even though they can’t feel anything in this form, they can see the heat of the desert, waves of it rising up from the sand and distorting the horizon in a way that is so, _ so _ goddamn welcome. They fly southward, pressing themself to move faster--faster than they can ever remember moving in this form, but they need to get there, need to get help  _ now, _ and they’re going to be exhausted later, but--

There’s something moving below them. And that something looks pretty damn familiar.

If it’s not Kobra and Ghoul driving Party’s precious Trans Am through the desert at breakneck speeds, they are gonna have goddamn  _ fisticuffs _ with whoever is.

They switch directions and fly after the car, quickly catching up and dropping down into the backseat, and fuck  _ yes, _ Kobra’s in the passenger seat. Why Ghoul is driving is a mystery to Party, but right now that doesn’t matter, because these are exactly the guys Party’s been looking for!

_ ‘Kobra, holy fuck, oh my  _ god,’ Party thinks as loudly as possible, and Kobra jumps, looking all around.

“Party?” he calls, peering into the backseat, and Party laughs--as though they were just takin’ a goddamn nap in the backseat for two days? Three days? However long it’s been.

“Kobes, it’s fine, we’re almost there--we’ll find ‘em,” Ghoul says, and he leans forward, as though he can somehow will the car to move faster. Actually, if Party had their body, they might be able to do just that. They’ll have to test it later. And--

_ ‘Wait,’ _ Party narrows their eyes. There’s glass on the floorboards, and--  _ ‘Who the  _ fuck _ broke my goddamn windows?! Who do I have to ghost?!’ _

_ ‘Shut up, Party, fuck. Where are you?!’ _

_ ‘Shut up yourself, Kobra! This is  _ my _ goddamn car, and someone smashed my fuckin’ windows! I will  _ strangle _ whoever--’ _

_ ‘Where the  _ fuck _ are you? You’ve been gone two days!’ _

Party swallows down their anger. Right. Emergency. They’ll worry about their car later.  _ ‘BL/ind got me,’ _ they say.  _ ‘One of ‘em snuck in, saw me use my telekinesis.’ _

Kobra swears, and Ghoul looks at him. “Oh, fuck,” says Ghoul. “They’re here, huh? Thank fuck. Least they’re not dead.”

_ ‘Yet,’ _ Party can’t help but say, and Kobra groans.

_ ‘Damn it. I  _ knew _ that’s what happened. Okay, fuck--we’re almost to the city. Where do we find you?’ _

_ ‘We’ll meet you at the gates,’ _ Party tells him.  _ ‘Gonna have to break ‘em down so we can get out.’ _

_ ‘We?’ _

_ ‘Got a disgruntled BL/ind employee with me.’ _

_ ‘A BL--you sure it’s safe?’ _

_ ‘Yeah, he came and broke me out. Don’t worry, bro, I trust him.’ _

_ ‘Yeah. Yeah, okay. Look, Party--south gates, right?’ _

_ ‘Yup! He should be about there, I gotta get back. Just--soon as you get there, blast that gate the _ fuck _ open, yeah? And be ready to split.’ _

_ ‘You got it, Party. See you soon.’ _

_ ‘See ya, Kobes.’ _

And Party opens their eyes. Fuck, being carried like a sack of potatoes is actually really fuckin’ uncomfortable. They squirm, and Jet Star almost drops them again.

“Are you--can I set you down this time?” he asks.

“Yeah, I can walk now,” Party says, and Jet Star helps them stand upright.

They look at each other, and Jet Star tilts his head at them. “So?” he asks. “Backup, you said?”

Party nods. “Got Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid on their way. They’ll be at the gates soon. Gonna blast ‘em down.”

Jet blinks. “Fun--? Oh. Shit. Nice.”

Party grins. “We’re gettin’ outta here.” They turn. “C’mon, let’s move,” they say, and take off running.

They don’t have to wait long before they hear Jet star’s footsteps following after them.

 

==========

 

They’ve been driving for a couple of hours, what seems like all of Ghoul’s weight slammed on the gas pedal, and Battery City’s high, blank white walls are just now coming into view.

“Party said they’ll meet us at the south gate,” Kobra says, and Ghoul nods.

“Good thing they showed up when they did,” he says. “I know I was talkin’ a big game, but...I seriously dunno if we coulda taken on the whole BL/ind team at once.”

“Yeah,” says Kobra, looking less tense than he has since Party disappeared, “I can read your thoughts, remember?”

Ghoul nods. He’d been trying to think calming thoughts at Kobra since they decided they’d go take on the superheroes of Battery City, but it’s not surprising some of his actual feelings on the issue made their way through. He’d figured this would be a suicide mission, but it was their only choice, honestly.

Well, it  _ had _ been their only choice, ‘til Party’s fuckin’  _ ghost _ showed up and told them to blow the city gates the fuck up. Things are looking up now. They’re gonna fuck shit up  _ and _ they’re almost guaran-fuckin’-teed a successful mission.

And if there’s one thing Ghoul loves, it‘s fuckin’ shit up.

Beside him, Kobra snorts. “You love a lot of things, idiot. Fuckin’ shit up’s just your fetish.”

“Do  _ not _ call my one true love a goddamn fetish, Kobra.”

“Thought I was your one true love?” Kobra’s smirking, and it makes Ghoul feel lighter.

“Oh, fuck off,” he says with a laugh. “Hey. Gate’s comin’ up. You ready?”

Kobra nods, leaning down to grab his helmet and Ghoul’s mask from the floorboard. He reaches over and puts Ghoul’s mask on for him, tugging it down to cover his face. “Can ya see okay?” 

“Yeah,” says Ghoul, easing off the gas as they approach the city.

Kobra nods, pulls his helmet on. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

Ghoul slams his foot on the break, and they jump out of the car before it’s even come to a complete stop. They duck behind a pile of scrap metal a couple hundred feet from the gate and peer around it.

_ ‘Can you sense ‘em?’ _ Ghoul thinks at Kobra.

Kobra pauses a moment, then nods once. _ ‘I can feel ‘em--they’re not far from the gate, still underground. There’s someone with ‘em, like they said. If we’re gonna do this, we gotta do it now. You ready?’ _

_ ‘When you are.’ _

Kobra nods again and raises his hand, holds up his thumb. Ghoul inhales, focuses, and  _ screams. _

Kobra moves his hand, a flick of the finger, and the gate explodes.

 

==========

 

They’re only steps from the final door, the one that’ll take them back onto the street, when there’s a sudden explosion. Dust and tile and little electronic pieces rain down around them, and they both duck down and put their arms over their heads.

“What’s happening?!” Jet looks over at Party Poison, who’s got this wide, lopsided grin on their face, despite the exhaustion he can see creeping around at the edges.

Party Poison looks at him, lifts their head once the noise dies down. “That would be our backup,” they say cheerfully. They flick their wrist, and the door opens, letting in the sunlight.

Jet squints out the door. “Oh, sweet,” he says. “I’ll go fir--”

“What, and get yourself blown up? They don’t know you, idiot. I’ll go first.” Party Poison charges out onto the street, and Jet has to admit they’re right. After all, he’s still dressed as a BL/ind agent. Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid are more likely to kill him on sight than BL/ind is. He’ll just have to wait for Party Poison to tell them he’s here.

Carefully, he pokes his head out to watch what’s going on.

He sees Party Poison take off, running for the gate. They have to dodge fallen chunks of concrete and sparking wires that have landed in the road. There’s another noise, like a shout but not quite, something louder and more  _ dangerous, _ and part of the wall starts to collapse, raining down more concrete and sending up a cloud of dust which immediately obscures Party Poison from view.

Jet sucks in a breath, a spike of dread shooting through him. Damn it, he can’t  _ see- _ -what’s happening? Did they make it? Did they get  _ crushed? _ He wants to be out there--he wants to help, but--!

Then Party Poison emerges from the cloud of dust again, sprinting toward him.

“Come on!” they shout, reaching for him. Jet grabs their hand without even thinking, lets Party Poison pull him through the door and tug him into the chaos. “We don’t have much time, run!”

Jet’s running. He could overtake Party Poison easily, his strides are longer than theirs, but he has no idea where they’re going, and there’s another shout, and he hears another explosion, and things are falling again, the dust cloud growing denser. He can’t see Party Poison again, but his hand is still clutched in theirs.

He looks up. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what he expects to see, but he looks up, squinting to protect his eyes from the dust, and he sees--something. A distortion he might blame on his watery eyes, if it weren’t for the fact that the dust is curling around the outline of a human figure, just above them.

“Fuck--!” Jet tugs at Party Poison’s hand and pulls them to the side, behind a chunk of concrete.

“What the hell are you  _ doing?!” _ Party Poison hisses, yanking at their joined hands. “We have to move  _ now, _ we don’t have time to--”

“Veiled Ghost,” Jet says, holding tightly to Party Poison. They stop pulling and look at him, confused. “She’s--she can fly. She’s invisible. She’s there, in the dust cloud.” Jet points, willing Party Poison to see the way the dust curves around the shape.

Party Poison squints, frowning, and then their eyes widen. “Fuck,” they mutter. “Good eye. Gotta warn Kobra.”

“We can’t sneak out of here to tell him,” Jet says, shaking his head. He knows Veiled Ghost. She’s got keen eyesight--it’s likely she’s already seen them and is just waiting for them to come out of hiding so she can get a clear shot with her ray gun.

“Don’t hafta move,” Party Poison says. “I already told him. He’s on it.”

“Wha--how did you--?”

Party Poison just shakes their head and winks. Damn--they hadn’t even fainted this time. What the hell was their power? Did they have  _ three _ of them?

“Just hang tight,” they said. “It’ll be just a minute…and...there!”

There’s a clap of sound, almost like thunder, and Jet watches as the distortion in the dust flickers and gains substance, and now he can clearly see Veiled Ghost, falling to the ground.

He pulls on Party Poison’s hand, but they’re already running, pulling him along. He hears the sickening  _ thud _ as her body hits the ground, swallows hard, and keeps running.

They emerge from the dust cloud and into the desert. It’s bright--too bright--brighter out here than it was in Battery City, even with everything painted a blinding white.

“Party!” Someone shouts, and Jet follows the sound to see two figures standing nearby: A tall man in a yellow helmet, the words  _ “Good Luck” _ printed across the visor--Kobra Kid--and a shorter man in a monster mask--Fun Ghoul. He fights back the rush of fear at seeing them, reminds himself they’re on his side now, regardless of how he’s dressed, and follows Party Poison as they continue to run.

“Car, now!” Party Poison shouts over their shoulder. They pull him around a pile of junkyard scrap, and Jet sees a car, not unlike the ones BL/ind agents drive through the desert, but splashed with colors and shapes and words, and with two windows broken out of one side.

Party Poison opens up the back door and shoves him inside, climbing in after him and then crawling up into the driver’s seat. “Fuck’s sake,” they mutter under their breath. “The fuckin’ windows.”

Jet looks around, taking in the car’s interior--it’s dirty, full of gritty sand and shards of glass, littered with empty cans of what look to be dog food. He shifts his gaze to the rearview mirror, eyeing Party Poison. Their eyes are trained on Kobra Kid, who’s pulling Fun Ghoul behind him as he sprints for the car.

“Hurry the fuck up!” Party Poison shouts. “We gotta  _ move!” _

Kobra Kid rips open the passenger side door and yanks Fun Ghoul forward, shoving him into the back seat before clambering in himself and slamming the door shut behind him. Fun Ghoul swears, righting himself after a moment and giving Jet a sidelong look.

“Go, go!” Kobra Kid shouts, and the car starts up, Party Poison jolts forward, and the car is careening across the sand.

Jet grins. They’re out of the city.

They made it. _ He _ made it. He  _ escaped! _ He actually  _ got out of Battery City! _

“Fuck,” says Kobra Kid, dispassionately. “Incoming.”

Jet turns to look out the back window, and he berates himself for congratulating himself too early. After all, his power is pretty much bringing about the worst case scenario, isn’t it?

Because there’s what looks like a legion of BL/ind cars and motorcycles speeding out of the broken city gate after them.

Fan-fuckin’-tastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things i hate to read: ciffhangers  
> tings i love to write: cliffhangers  
> that scene in BL/ind HQ where party's like "catch me" and collapses into jet's arms and stuff?? one of my faves. super hilarious (to me at least) to imagine it from jet's point of view. that guy has no idea what's going on.
> 
> feel free to comment if you enjoyed, i'd love to hear what you think! :)  
> see you next sunday with chapter 5!!


	5. Run Away With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobra has a plan.  
> Jet's not a fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 12! going strong!!
> 
> this chapter marks both the end of the first arc and the beginning of the second!
> 
> thank you as always to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and encouraging me and everything else!! You Know What You Did.
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter! :)

“We got Dracs on our tail!” Party shouts, pressing down harder on the gas pedal. Kobra leans out the window to get a better look at the Draculoids racing toward them on their shining white motorcycles.

“I can get rid of ‘em pretty easy with Ghoul’s help,” he says, eyeing them. There’s a calvary of about twenty that he can see, and maybe a dozen cars, probably carrying some of BL/ind’s superheroes, or maybe just exterminators. He could probably figure out which if he concentrated on them, but just blowing them all up would probably be a better idea.

“Can we do it without killin’ anyone?” Ghoul asks, and Kobra pulls back into the car to look at him over the back of his seat. He can’t see Ghoul’s expression through his mask, but he can sense his thoughts. Ghoul’s never really gotten over the accidental deaths his inability to control his power caused when he was a kid, and he tries to avoid killing with it when he can--even when they’re running for their lives from a bunch of BL/ind agents.

Kobra respects that, but sometimes it makes things a little more difficult than it needs to be.

He nods. “Should be able to just flip the cars and stuff, get ‘em off our tail.”

“‘S not a guarantee, though.”

“Never a guarantee, Ghoul.”

“Just keep us out of the blast zone, Kobes,” says Party.

Kobra nods again, then leans out the window again, just as the first blast of a ray gun zips past his face, narrowly missing his helmet.  _ “Fuck! _ Ghoul, make a decision!”

“Yeah, fuck, okay!” Ghoul shifts in his seat, cranking the window down and facing it. “Lemme know when to scream.”

Kobra watches the BL/ind vehicles move closer. “Party,” he says. “Can you get this thing goin’ faster?”

“Maybe!” Party’s eyes are flicking between the rearview mirror and the windshield. “Not without takin’ my hands off the wheel, though, and you’re about to be occupied!”

Kobra’s gaze flickers to the BL/ind agent in the backseat. Ex-BL/ind agent, he supposes. He doesn’t quite trust the guy yet, but he’s not getting any troubling thoughts or emotions from him--fear and anxiety, yes, but he’s pretty sure he’s picking that up from everyone in the car, in varying amounts.

“Hey,” he says, ducking back into the car. The BL/ind guy looks over at him, eyes wide. “Can you lean forward and take the wheel while Party does their thing?”

“What?” The guy blinks at him, and Kobra rolls his eyes. 

“Lean forward,” Kobra says again, “and steer the car. Party’s gotta speed up if we’re gonna get far enough away to hit where we need to.”

“Oh,” he says, then, “Oh! Oh, yeah, I--hang on.” The guy moves forward, leaning over the seat as Party shifts to one side, and grabs the wheel with one hand. “Okay,” he says, and Kobra’s picking up even more nervous energy from this guy. Ugh, fuck, he better not steer them off a cliff or somethin’.

Party, foot still pressed to the pedal, frowns down at their feet. “Okay,” they say. “Never done this before, but--” They flick their wrist, clench their fist, and make a quick punching motion.

The car shoots forward, scenery turning into a blur around them and the BL/ind cars falling behind them. The BL/ind guy in their car swears under his breath, stretching to bring his other arm up around Party to grip the wheel.

_ ‘Ghoul!’ _ Kobra thinks, leaning out the window again. _ ‘Now!’ _

Ghoul releases a piercing scream that makes everyone startle, the BL/ind guy jerking the wheel to the side before straightening it out again, and Kobra moves quickly, dragging the sound toward him and then firing it behind the car. He stretches the sound out into a line rather than the usual cone shape, and he thinks,  _ wall. _ He aims the edge of the sound at the front of the lines and lets it go.

Instantly, there’s a wall of sand behind them, shooting high into the sky and stretching to their left and right. He hears a crash, then another--hears an explosion, and winces. 

_ ‘They’re probably okay,’  _ he thinks at Ghoul, who promptly drops back into his seat.

He pulls himself back into the car, looks over at Party and the BL/ind guy. “Keep it up for a couple minutes, guys. Gotta make sure we get far enough.”

“Yeah,” says Party, and their voice sounds strained. “That’s prob’ly--’bout as long as I can make it last.”

“Are you doing okay?” the BL/ind guy asks, and he sounds more concerned than nervous. “You’re not gonna faint again, are you?”

Party barks out a laugh. “Nah,” they say. “Not if I’m gonna keep this up--fuck, turn, turn,  _ turn _ \--no,  _ right, fuck!” _

The ex-BL/ind agent forces the wheel to the right just in time to narrowly avoid a boulder--the one spray-painted in cool greens and blues, the one marking the halfway point between Batt City and their own stronghold--and the car whips to the side. Ghoul falls forward and swears loudly.

“Keep your  _ fucking _ hands on the goddamn  _ wheel!” _ he says. 

Kobra chuckles, reaching back to offer his hand to Ghoul. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says teasingly, and Ghoul scoffs, mutters a soft  _ “fuck you” _ under his breath, but takes his hand, giving it a squeeze.

They’re almost home.

 

==========

 

Jet Star has driven a car exactly three times in his entire life. This is the third time, and definitely the most terrifying.

He has no fucking idea where they’re going, or what Party Poison did to make the car move at, like, supersonic speeds or whatever the hell is happening, and the world around him is moving too fast for him to make out anything.

The windows are all down, the wind is whipping a combination of sand and Party Poison’s hair into Jet’s face, and he feels like he’s going to fall over at any moment because he’s leaning over the back of the driver’s seat, knees barely on the edge of the backseat and his arms spread wide around Party Poison’s torso. 

Whatever Jet had thought escaping Battery City would be like, it was absolutely not this.

“Can’t--” Party Poison makes a choking sound, and Jet can feel them start to tremble. “Can’t keep it--”

“Drop it, Party,” says the Kobra Kid. “They’re not chasin’ us anymore.”

Party Poison sags immediately, and the car shudders, lurching as they release their power from it. Jet loses his grip on the wheel, falling sideways, half onto the floorboard and half into Fun Ghoul’s lap. 

He scrambles upright, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat and pulling himself up, ignoring the protestations of what feels like every single muscle in his body. “Are--is everything okay? Now?” he asks, eyes shifting between all three of them.

The car’s still moving, albeit much slower than before, and Party Poison’s slumped over the steering wheel. Beside them, Kobra Kid’s sitting upright, arm stretched backward into the backseat, where his hand is clutched in Fun Ghoul’s. Fun Ghoul himself is leaning forward, forehead pressed against the back of the seat in front of him, but he can’t see either of their faces--they’re still covered by helmet and mask, respectively.

Party Poison lifts one hand and puts their thumb up, still shaking slightly. “Peachy,” they cough out. “Fuck--gonna sleep for a goddamn  _ week- _ -ow,  _ god.” _

“Got rid of ‘em,” says Kobra Kid, who remains facing forward. “And they won’t come out after us immediately. Got time to recover.”

“What’re we gonna do with this guy, though?” 

Jet Star tilts his head to glance at Fun Ghoul and sees his monster mask turned completely toward him. He can’t help it--he flinches.

“He’s with us now,” says Party Poison. “Don’t think BL/ind’ll want him back now, anyway.”

Jet Star blinks, looking up into the rearview mirror, but Party Poison’s eyes are fixed on the road ahead.

Kobra Kid shrugs. “It’s fine.” He turns then, presumably looking at him, but Jet can’t see anything through the helmet. Just the notorious  _ Good Luck _ staring back at him. “Just know, you try and go back to Batt City with information, you won’t live long after that.”

Jet opens his mouth, but he can’t think of a response--this is the infamous  _ Kobra Kid, _ threatening to  _ kill him, _ in a calm and collected tone and everything--and Party Poison speaks again.

“He’s not gonna, Kobes, c’mon. He was already on BL/ind’s shit list, and he helped me escape--broke some other people out, too, hope they got somewhere safe--y’think he did all that so he could, what, tell the bastards where we  _ live? _ BL/ind already  _ knows, _ dumbass.”

“Yeah, I--” Jet clears his throat. “I’m not going back there. I’ve been trying to get out of the city for...years.”

“Years, huh?” Fun Ghoul asks, and Jet shrugs. 

“Since I was, uh...fourteen,” he says. “After my powers came in.”

“Didn’t wanna be a BL/ind superhero either, huh?” Kobra Kid’s still watching him.

“Yeah,” Jet says, and he bites his lip, looking out the window. “You can see how that turned out, though.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, just the sound of the wind rushing through the windows, and Jet thinks that maybe he said something wrong--maybe they’ll kick him out and leave him stranded in the desert, because, honestly, he’s a BL/ind agent, and just because he was forced into it doesn’t make up for all the horrible things he’s done--but then Kobra Kid clears his throat, pointedly, and Jet looks over at him.

Kobra Kid reaches up and pulls the helmet off his head in one smooth movement. Jet can feel his eyes widen, and--somehow, with all the trouble Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid have given BL/ind over the years, with all the stories that have been spread about them, Jet Star’s never actually thought about either of them as...well, human.

But Kobra Kid’s just a guy. He’s got short bleached-blond hair, cut raggedly, and some stubble on his jaw. There’s something about his face that seems familiar to him, but he can’t quite place it. But, he’s just...a guy.

A person.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m Kobra. Thanks for saving my sibling.”

And, oh--that’s what’s familiar. The Kobra Kid is Party Poison’s brother. Okay. That explains a lot, honestly.

 

==========

 

By the time Party pulls up to the diner and parks the car, they’re about ready to sleep on their goddamn feet. They’ve never been so exhausted before, and they feel...just, absolutely drained.

That’s what happens when you put an immense strain on both your fucking superpowers in ways you’ve never even attempted before, they suppose. And what happens when you spend several hours running around through a highly dangerous building and then some underground tunnels. And what happens when you spend a couple of days staying awake and trying to avoid being brainwashed. But that doesn’t make them feel any better. 

Party opens the door and lets themself fall out, into the sand, which is--actually, unfortunately, packed down pretty good right here, so when their face hits the ground it feels pretty similar to slamming their face into a solid brick. “Ow,  _ fuck,” _ they groan, but don’t make any move to get up.

Kobra climbs out of the car and moves around to their side, squatting down next to them. “Hey,” he says, putting one hand on their shoulder. “Party, there’s a perfectly good mattress inside. Don’t take a dirt nap yet.”

Party groans again. “Fuck off,” they say, and yeah, now their face hurts a hell of a lot in addition to their sore...everything else, but actually, if Party thinks about it, the sand is pretty comfortable. They don’t wanna move. They just wanna sleep.

“You can’t sleep here,” says Kobra, and he slides his arms around them to heft them upright.

“No,” Party whines, long and drawn-out, and their brother just snorts.

Behind them, Party hears a door open and shut, and then Jet Star asks, almost timidly, “Um, so...where should I go?”

Party, who’s got most of their weight on Kobra, turns their head as much as they can, ignoring the twisting pain in their neck, and says, “In here, dumbass, we got a sofa.” They lean on Kobra even more as he pulls them inside. “I mean, ya didn’t set the sofa on fire or somethin’ while I was gone, didja?”

Behind them, Ghoul laughs. “We used it for a big bonfire,” he says, and Party doesn’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning. “Roasted fuckin’... _ potatoes _ in it.”

“Damn,” they say. “Better’ve saved me some, or I’m gonna...gonna eat both your goddamn boots.”

“I really don’t care if you eat my boots,” says Ghoul, following them into the diner. “You might die, though, and I don’t think Kobes’ll be happy ‘bout that, so maybe  _ don’t _ fuckin’ do that.”

“Can’t stop me.”

“I  _ could. _ Pretty fuckin’ easy, too. Now go to sleep, asshole.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, fuckface.” Kobra and Party have reached their bedroom door, though, and Kobra shoves them inside and onto their mattress on the floor just inside the door.

“Go to sleep, Party,” Kobra says. “If you’re still asleep by sundown, I’ll come put a blanket over ya.”

“The good one?” Party asks hopefully, because that fuzzy red blanket was really hard to get, and it’s a bitch to keep it clean and soft, but  _ fuck _ is it the best goddamn experience to snuggle up under it on cold desert nights.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Kobra, leaving the room. He closes the door behind him, and Party’s already dropping off to sleep, but then they feel that little tickle in their brain, and Kobra says,  _ ‘Glad to have you back, Party.’ _

Party smiles, spreading themself out on the mattress.  _ ‘Glad to be back, Kobes.’ _

 

==========

 

His first few days in the desert are...surreal, to say the least. Jet isn’t used to the heat of the day and the chill of the night. Battery City is always the same temperature, comfortably warm whether you’re out on the street or in your own house. Here, it seems to alternate between the two extremes of  _ unbearably hot, could fry an egg on the sand outside _ and  _ unbearably cold, requires seven layers to move around inside. _

There’s also the fact that he feels like an intruder. 

The three of them--Party Poison, the Kobra Kid, and Fun Ghoul--live in what is, apparently, an old, run-down diner, and the space has clearly been _ theirs _ for a long time, because, despite the dirt and grime coating the walls, chairs, and everything else, the clutter feels homey, and the building as a whole just feels so...domestic. More so than any home Jet can remember seeing in Battery City, but he can’t say that’s surprising, all things considered.

Anyway, he just doesn’t feel like he belongs here. Everything is theirs in a way that makes him feel...not excluded, exactly, but just...just like he doesn’t belong here. That’s the only way he can really articulate it.

It doesn’t help that Party Poison’s been sleeping almost the whole time he’s been here--Kobra Kid says they used too much of their energy and exhausted themself, that they’ll be okay soon, but. But. He has things he wants to ask them, things that he...doesn’t quite feel comfortable talking to Kobra Kid or Fun Ghoul about.

Not because either of them have been unwelcoming or closed off or anything, but, well. He just feels more awkward around them than he does Party Poison.

For one thing, he never actively fought against Party Poison as a part of BL/ind. For another thing, Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid are...well, they’re kind of glued to each other, and Jet can’t say he’s ever really felt like a third wheel, but when those two are around, that’s really the only way to describe the way he feels.

“You know you can ask us whatever you wanna know,” Kobra Kid says on the second day, from where he’s sitting at one of the diner booths across from Fun Ghoul. 

“I--uh, no, it’s okay.” Jet says from the couch. He hasn’t really left the couch much since he got here. It feels safer than the rest of the building.

Not that he thinks Kobra Kid or Fun Ghoul will attack him, or something. He just...feels less weird here.

Kobra Kid lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I can feel your brain, y’know. Telepathy, remember?” He gestures vaguely to his temple, and,  _ oh yeah. _ That was another thing to get used to: spending time with a guy who could  _ hear your thoughts. _

“You get used to it,” Kobra Kid says, and Jet grits his teeth. “Party ‘n’ Ghoul did, anyway.”

“What?” asks Fun Ghoul, stuffing a spoonful of Power-Pup into his mouth (yes, Jet had unfortunately learned, the desert rebels did, in fact, eat dog food, and quite regularly) and chewed for a moment before continuing, mouth still full, “Oh, the mind-readin’ thing. Yeah. Makes things quicker. Less complicated.”

Wouldn’t that make things  _ more  _ complicated? You couldn’t have any secrets if you were constantly around a mind-reader.

Kobra Kid makes a scoffing sound. “I’m not, like, constantly listenin’ to everyone’s thoughts. I just pick up on ‘em sometimes.” He pauses. “Okay, I pick up on everyone’s thoughts. Usually I just tune ‘em out, though.”

“Then how do you keep hearing what I’m thinking?”

“I’m actively listenin’ to your thoughts.”

“Why?!” Jet already has to watch his thoughts, anyway, and now he has to guard them, too, make sure he doesn’t think anything that would bother--fuck, no, he’s not thinking about anything, his mind is blank, _ blank- _ -

“That’s really annoying,” Kobra Kid says. “Now your thoughts’re all jumbled. Anyway, what’s this about you havin’ to watch your thoughts?”

“Nothing,” says Jet, too quickly. He can’t think about his powers, they’re too dangerous, he doesn’t want anyone to know--and he can control them, he can, but--

“Oh. Uncontrollably dangerous power? We know a thing or two about those, huh Ghoul?”

“Hm?” Fun Ghoul is chewing with his mouth wide open. Jet can hear it, and it’s worse when Fun Ghoul turns to look at him, because now he can see it. “Oh, shit, you too?” There’s- _ -ugh- _ -there’s chunks of dog food falling from his mouth as he speaks.

“Um,” says Jet, trying very hard to ignore that. “Uh. ...I guess?” Wait, had he said ‘too?’ Well, obviously Fun Ghoul had a dangerous power, he’d seen it at work, had heard the stories. And he didn’t want to talk about his power!

Fun Ghoul nods, swallows. “Shit, man. Welcome to the club. What’s your power?”

Jet shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s--it’s nothing.”

Fun Ghoul raises an eyebrow. “‘Nothing’ and ‘uncontrollably dangerous’ don’t really go together, y’know?”

Yeah, okay, Jet probably should have worded it differently. But he doesn’t know these guys, doesn’t know what they’d do if they found out about--after all, when BL/ind found out, they--

Okay, he’s not exactly panicking, but he’s still kinda freaking out, and that’s not good, he’s gotta calm down, fuck, why isn’t Party Poison here? He could probably talk to them, but he can’t talk to these guys, can’t talk to Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid!

“Hey,” says Kobra Kid, and Jet doesn’t look at him, instead focusing on a bare spot of the floor. He knows Kobra Kid can hear his thoughts, doesn’t want to deal with that fact right now. He just wants to…

He doesn’t know what he wants. 

Jet Star hadn’t really had a plan for what came after  _ Leave the city, join the rebels. _ He’s already done those things. What is he supposed to do now?!

Kobra Kid sighs. “Look,” he says. “You don’t have to talk about it right now if it’s that big a deal. And me ‘n’ Ghoul aren’t gonna kick ya out or somethin’ just ‘cause of your power. Just--look.”

Jet raises his head to look at him, hoping his eyes don’t look as wild as he’s sure they do.

“We’ve got the same goal,” Kobra Kid says. “You’re not a BL/ind agent. Ghoul ‘n’ me, we’re not even that scary ‘less we’re fightin’ BL/ind.”

“Speak for yourself,” says Fun Ghoul, crushing his empty dog food can between two hands.

Kobra Kid rolls his eyes. “You’re not scary. You’re like a fuckin’...chihuahua.”

“A what?”

“You know, those little…” Kobra makes a gesture with both hands, “...dogs. The yappy ones you see ‘round Batt City sometimes.”

“Oh. Those things are fuckin’ _ cute.” _

“Exactly.”

“...Oh, fuck  _ off, _ Kobra!” Ghoul tosses his crushed can at Kobra, who easily bats it away without even blinking.

Jet can’t help his snicker. Actually, if he thinks about it, he can see the resemblance. One of the execs who’d had command of him for a while had a little chihuahua named Buttercup. Ate better than Fun Ghoul did, though. In terms of  _ what _ it ate as well as manners.

“See?” says Kobra Kid. “Not scary.”

Jet shrugs. They’re definitely not the supervillains BL/ind built them up to be, but...well. He’ll still wait for Party Poison to wake up.

He hopes they feel better soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone made it out of the city! woo-hoo!!!  
> i've been looking forward to Jet learning to live in the desert since i started this fic, and i can promise you some really good stuff coming up in later chapters. ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! if you're feeling up to it, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! :D


	6. Truth is Now Acceptable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party and Jet have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week uhhhhhh Thirteen?? yeah. 13!!
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter! This one was fun because I LOVE writing from Party's POV. Enjoy!
> 
> Big thank you as always to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and for frickin......drawing something for the chase scene from last week?? what the hell?? i love you??? i'll be linking it down in the notes at the end of this chapter, PLEASE go look at it, ace is so talented and i love and adore them ;A;
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: brief mentions of sex/prostitution

Party Poison feels like shit.

They’re laying in the dark, but that’s not super surprising because they made Ghoul board up their bedroom window back when they first moved into this place, so the sunlight wouldn’t keep them up during the day.

So, since it’s dark, they have no idea what time it is, or how long they’ve been sleeping. They do know, however, that they’re  _ very _ hungry, and that their mouth feels like someone fed them sand recently. Probably Ghoul, the bastard. First order of business is the bathroom, though, because they feel like they haven’t pissed in  _ days. _

Also, they feel like they got the shit beat out of them, which also isn’t all that weird, but still terrible. And awful.

They sit up with a groan, slip off the mattress and force themself to stand up, stumbling for the door. They yank it open, immediately squeezing their eyes shut with a muttered  _ “Fuck,” _ because apparently it’s daytime and the sun is, like,  _ right there, _ beaming its fuckin’  _ radiation _ right into their goddamn eyes. 

They make their way to the bathroom with their eyes closed, don’t open them again until they’ve shut the door behind them.  _ Fuck, _ they hate the sun. They take care of business and open the door just a crack, trying to get themself used to the light a little bit at a time.

When they feel they can manage it, they step back into the main room of the diner and head for the kitchen to scrounge up what they can. Wait, fuck--they pat their pockets, still wearing the same clothes they have been for days, and come up empty. Fuck. Their cigarettes are gone, and, more importantly, all those goddamn carbons they got at the bar--the carbons they technically got caught by BL/ind for--are gone. They have no idea when. Maybe BL/ind took ‘em while they were out, or somethin’. Maybe they fell out of their pocket while they were runnin’ around the tunnels. Who knows?

All they know is that now there’s probably nothing better than Power-Pup in the kitchen right now, because they’ve been the only one earning money for a while now and their stock had been running low before all this shit went down. _ Fuck! _

They go into the kitchen and grab a can of Power-Pup, march over to one of the diner booths and drop into the seat to eat. Ghoul can probably fix up some more junk and sell it, right? Or do some mechanical work, whatever. Or maybe he and Kobra can just go to the bar and everyone’ll give ‘em free food and stuff, because if it wasn’t for them, most of these people would probably be dead by now, anyway.

Yeah, right. They’re probably gonna have to play pool again. Or actually go find something more lucrative. They could probably do some carbon dating for a while, but they haven’t done that since they were nineteen, and yeah, it brought in some decent carbons, but fuck, it was a lot less enjoyable than they’d thought it would be. Who knew blowin’ a stranger in a bathroom stall would be so...weird?

Anyway, it’s not an experience they want to have again. They’ll have to think of something else. Maybe rely on trading some of Ghoul’s stuff for a bit. God, Power-Pup is fuckin’  _ nasty. _

By the time they finish their meal, they’re wide awake, which sucks because it’s hot as hell and they know Kobra and Ghoul are already asleep. If Party could, they’d go back to sleep, but they honestly aren’t sure if they’ll ever go to sleep again. Unfortunately. God, they hate being awake in the daytime.

They leave the empty Power-Pup can on the table with several other similarly-empty cans and head for the sofa. At least if they’re gonna be awake at this awful hour, they’re gonna enjoy themself with whatever fine literature Kobra managed to scrounge up in the last month or whatever. 

Someone mumbles something, and sniffles, and rustles a blanket. Party stops in their tracks, startled, and looks around for the noise. 

Oh, fuck. Right. They’d almost forgotten about Jet Star.

He’s laying on the couch with a blanket over him, which is ridiculous, because it’s like a million degrees already. Though, the blanket is half-fallen to the floor, only covering one of his legs and a bit of torso. He’s sweating a lot, though, the short, dark locks of his hair sticking to his forehead, his shirt--actually, it looks like it’s one of Kobra’s shirts, because it’s not the same BL/ind white he arrived with--damp around the neck.

What kind of idiot sleeps with a blanket on out here? Party shakes their head and moves closer, tugging the blanket off of him and draping it over the back of the couch. When they step away and look at Jet Star again, his eyes are open, squinting against the sunlight, and he’s watching them.

“Hey,” they say. 

“You’re awake,” says Jet Star, voice slurred from sleep. He sits up, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are you--? Um. How’re you feelin’?”

“Pretty damn good, actually,” Party replies, rolling their shoulders. “Now that I’m up and movin’. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever used that much power. How long was I out?”

“Um. Three days. I think?” Jet Star squints in the direction of the sun, then looks around. “Time’s it?”

Party lets out a low whistle. “Three days? You serious?” At Jet Star’s nod, they fold their arms across their chest and shake their head. Three days! Explains a lot, really. They point to the clock over in one corner, near the radio. “It’s…quarter after two.” 

“Oh,” he says. “Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul are asleep, huh? I’m not used to desert time, yet.”

Party nods. It’s easiest to be up and about in the cooler hours, namely evening and morning, and sleep at the more extreme points. Battery City, however, exists in a climate-controlled bubble, so the citizens live their lives in the daylight and sleep through the night.

They’re quiet for a bit, and the silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t quite...pleasant, either.

After a couple of minutes, Jet Star sits up fully and puts his feet on the floor. He makes no move to get up, though. “So, um,” he says, and he’s peering down at his hands, clasped on his knees. “So, you. Do you faint a lot, then?”

Party barks out a laugh, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch, pulling their legs up and turning to face him. “It’s not really fainting,” they say. “You were here for three days, didn’t Kobra tell you anything?”

“Um,” he says, glancing over at them. “Well, I mean--he told me some things. I didn’t ask, uh, about you though.”

“Why not?” Fuck, if Party had been stuck somewhere for days--with people who didn’t want to kill or brainwash them, that is--they’d’ve been asking questions nonstop.

“It, um. Well, it didn’t really feel right to invade your privacy?” He says it more like a question than a statement, and Party laughs again. It comes out more like a giggle this time, and they notice Jet Star’s face flush ever so slightly.

Interesting.

“There’s not exactly a lot of privacy to be had out here,” they say, sending a smirk in his direction. “Anyway. I don’t faint. I--well, I dunno what it’s called, but my, like--my spirit can kinda leave my body behind and go do whatever.”

Jet Star blinks at them. “Oh,” he says, then, “Oh! Astral projection. That...explains a lot.”

Party wrinkles their nose. “Ass-what projection?” 

“Astral projection. That’s the, er...official name of your power.” He shrugs, looks uncomfortable. “Sorry,” he says. “BL/ind, uh...they taught us about all the officially-recognized powers. You know. In case we had to apprehend someone.” Jet Star picks absently at the skin of his thumb, looking down.

“Mm, yeah, sounds about right,” Party says, trying to keep their tone light. It’s pretty obvious this guy didn’t want to work for BL/ind, so they’re not gonna hold it against him if he’s got nefarious knowledge. “There’s not a lot of people out here with powers, so we kinda had to figure it out as we went along. Speakin’ of powers, how does yours work? I only saw you use it that once. Is it, like, an electrical thing? Or what?”

Jet Star’s still not saying anything. His lips are pursed slightly, and he looks...well, if Party had to put a word to it, they’d say he looks resigned. “It’s...hard to explain. And there’s not an official name for it. Or, well, there wasn’t until they found me. But, no, it’s not an electrical thing.” He shrugs. “I don’t know why it took out the signal, but I’m glad it went with that instead of all the other things that could have happened.”

Party quirks an eyebrow at him. “Other things?” they repeat. “Whaddaya mean by that?”

He looks over at Party for a moment, makes brief eye contact, and drops his gaze to somewhere around their left ear. “It’s hard to explain,” he says again. “I...Kobra Kid. He said you guys wouldn’t kick me out or anything, just ‘cause I have an…’uncontrollably dangerous’ power. But--”

“Oh, shit,” Party interrupts. “Damn, now I gotta know. And yeah, man. We’re not gonna do anythin’ to you. You saved my life!” They lean closer to him, and his gaze flicks back to theirs. “You wanna talk ‘bout uncontrollable, you shoulda seen Ghoul when we first met him. He wouldn’t even speak for  _ weeks _ ‘cause he was so scared he’d, like, blow our brains out or somethin’ just by sayin’ ‘Hey.’ And, I mean, he prob’ly coulda,” Party continues, nodding, because yeah, Ghoul’s damn powerful, no matter how much Party hates to admit it, “But Kobra helped him figure out how to control it. We could prob’ly figure out how to control yours, too, y’know?”

Jet Star’s staring at them now. “Oh,” he says. “I...I mean. BL/ind tried to figure it out for years, but they never really could. They--the risk of collateral damage was, uh, negligible enough, I guess, that they kept me around though. So, um. Maybe it won’t be that easy.”

“Collateral--? Dude. You’ve gotta tell me what your power is! I can’t help you if I don’t know anything!”

“Right. Okay.” Jet Star sucks in a breath, holds it for a few seconds, then lets it out. 

Party feels their eyes narrow; that’s a calming technique. They know for a fact that BL/ind doesn’t teach calming techniques. They just give you pills until you’re too drugged-up to worry about anything. Before they can mention anything, though, Jet Star’s talking again, gaze fixed on his own knee.

“Sometimes, when I’m angry or...well, upset in general, I guess, my negative thoughts...manifest?  Or, influence things, anyway. Um. I really don’t know how to explain it. I just know that I have to constantly monitor my thoughts, because if something slips through...I don’t know how it’ll...go.”

Party tilts their head to the side, watching him. He’s picking at the skin of his thumb again, nervous energy radiating off of him. “That sounds exhausting,” they say. “So, back in the BL/ind building, when the signal went out…”

“I didn’t know what would happen,” he says. “I--I shouldn’t have used it, because anything could have happened. But. I thought about how I wanted to get all those people out, and away from BL/ind, and we lucked out. It knocked the signal out instead of…” he shakes his head. “Instead of creating a carbon monoxide leak and suffocating us all. Or something.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah. BL/ind calls my power ‘Worst Case Scenario.’ I can’t control what happens at all. It’s like--when my power’s triggered, something bad happens. That’s it.”

Sounds tough. Party’s own powers are both pretty simple to control--they haven’t accidentally triggered them since they first got ‘em, in fact. And Kobra had some trouble controlling his mind-reading at first, but now he can turn it all on and off at will--though it does take a lot of focus for him to turn it off. This guy, though, he sounds like he might have more trouble than even Ghoul ever did, and Ghoul only really got better because he had Kobra, with his sound manipulation thing, to help him out.

Though, if Jet Star’s bad thoughts are what trigger his power, maybe Kobra could help him, too? It was worth a try, anyway.

But for now, it’s probably best to move on with the conversation. So Party just nods like they understand--which, they kinda do--and says, “So, when did your powers present, anyway?”

Jet Star looks over at them, blinks. “Oh. Um. When I was...thirteen? That’s when I noticed it, anyway.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes, mouth shifting into a frown, so Party tries to steer him away from what’s no doubt a bad memory.

“How long ago was that?” they ask. “Like, how old are you?”

That seems to bring him back. He shakes his head slightly. “Uh, somewhere around ten years ago. I’m 23 now.”

“No shit?” Party grins at him. “Me too! Fuck, wait, what school did you go to?” 

“Uh, Northend,” he says, and he’s smiling a little now. Good.

“Oh, fuck, you serious? I went to Northend! Almost graduated, too. Shit, dude, did we know each other?” Probably not, because they’re pretty sure they would’ve remembered Jet Star--he has a very distinctive face.

Jet Star narrows his eyes, studying them. “I...don’t think so,” he says after a moment. “I mean--it was a big school. I left when I was fourteen, anyway.”

“Oh, right.” That’s probably when BL/ind got him. “Still. Small fuckin’ world, man.”

“Real small.” Jet Star gives them a little grin, then tilts his head, opens his mouth slightly, like he’s gonna say something--stops. Closes his mouth. Looks away, clears his throat.

“...If you wanna say somethin’, go ahead. Got nothin’ else to do--I’m not goin’ anywhere in this heat, and I think I’ve slept enough to set me up for the rest of my  _ life _ . I’m all ears.”

Jet Star nods, looks at them, clears his throat again. “Sorry,” he says. “I just don’t know how to word it.”

“Just spit it out.” Party’s curiosity is piqued. Is he gonna tell them something else about their powers? Or a juicy tidbit about BL/ind?

“Um, back in the city, when we met. You said. Uh. That you weren’t...a guy?” He looks sheepish.

Party snorts. “Oh, yeah,” they say. “It’s cool, I know it seems kinda weird, ‘specially for a Batt fresh outta hell.”

“A wha--”

“Just means you’re new to the desert,” they say. “Anyway. Yeah. I’m not a man, I’m not a woman. I’m kinda…” they think. “...In the middle of the two?”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look like he quite gets it, but that’s okay.

Party hums in response. This isn’t something they’ve really had to explain much--Kobra just kinda picked up on it, and Ghoul already knew like three other people like Party. It’s not that uncommon, out on the desert and among the rebels. “I can’t really explain it. But back in the city, I hated, like...all the gender stuff? Y’know. Men do this, women do that. Neither really fit me.” They shrug. “Didn’t like bein’ called a guy  _ or  _ a girl. So I asked Kobes to start usin’, like, ‘they’ and ‘them’ for me--and you gotta do that, now, too--”

“Yeah, uh, was already doing that.”

“Fuckin’  _ spectacular. _ You’re my new best friend. Anyway, yeah. That’s about it. Don’t got one’a them fancy genders.” They turn in their seat so their back is pressed against the back of the sofa, stretching their legs out in front of them and their arms high above their head, groaning as they do so. Their right shoulder pops. It’s goddamn fantastic.

“Oh, shit,” they say, flopping over sideways on the couch and twisting to look up at Jet Star. “You got a new name?”

“Uh,” Jet Star scoots away from them slightly, closer to the arm of the sofa, and looks down at them. “...New name?”

“Yeah, man. It’s the desert, you can reinvent yourself however you want. I dyed my hair red and named myself after the color. Ghoul twisted some asshats’ words back on ‘em and named himself after a monster. Kobra...well, Kobes is just fuckin’ weird. Seriously. You can do whatever, call yourself whatever ya want.”

“Huh.” Jet Star blinks at them. “Yeah, I...might have to get back to you on that. Probably gonna stick with Jet Star for now. ...You can call me Jet, though. If you want to.”

Oh fuck, nicknames! Party can totally get behind this. “Then you should call me Party! Fuck yeah!” They beam at him, and Jet smiles back, not a trace of hesitance left on his lips.

It feels like a beginning of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i based party's gender talk almost completely on my own gender shenanigans so don't take it as a representation of all nonbinary people! :)
> 
> Check out this COOL HECKIN' ARTWORK by my zucchini! http://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/183685591141/the-windows-are-all-down-the-wind-is-whipping-a  
> i cried when i saw it, i adore it, it's the background of my tablet now ;u;
> 
> also, some news! i'll be starting up a second fic here that's just bonus chapters for this fic and updating it whenever i have stuff for it. i'll be posting the first chapter later this week, so be sure to keep an eye out for it! :)
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter! I'd love to hear your thoughts!! :D  
> Next chapter will be up next Sunday!


	7. Believe Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghoul tells a story.  
> Jet makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 14!!
> 
> This chapter forced me to get emotional about Fun Ghoul again :/
> 
> Thank you as always to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading this!! And for drawing more art?? Check the notes at the end of the chapter for a link!! :)
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: brief mentions of death.

When Kobra Kid wakes up, it’s to a mouth full of greasy hair gritty with sand. And it’s definitely not his.

    “Fuck, Ghoul,” he mutters, swatting at the foul article. “Fuckin’...nasty.”

    “Mmph,” says Ghoul, rolling even closer to Kobra and tightening his grip on him. “G’back t’sleep…”

    Kobra pushes on Ghoul’s arms, but it’s as futile as it ever is; Ghoul may be tiny, but he more than makes up for it with a wiry strength that makes for an iron grip.

    “Stop,” Ghoul whines, burrowing his face into Kobra’s neck. “Sleep.”

    Kobra sighs, dropping his arms back down onto the mattress. He squints into the distance, trying to read the clock from this position and in the darkness. “...’S either five or six. I think,” he says. “Time to get up, Ghoul.”

    Ghoul replies by wrapping his legs around Kobra’s torso like some kind of asshole koala. Kobra resigns himself to the same thing he resigns himself to every morning and evening and begins the process of getting them both out of bed.

    He shifts, Ghoul protesting his every movement, until he’s able to press his feet against the wall behind him. He plants his feet firmly, bunches the muscles in his legs, and shoves.

    The movement sends them both off the edge of the mattress, Ghoul still clinging to Kobra, and they land perpendicular to the mattress, Kobra’s feet still propped on top of it.

    “Ow, fuck, god _dammit!”_ Ghoul screeches, and his grip on Kobra only tightens further. “Fuck...every goddamn time!”

    “Time to get up,” Kobra says again, twisting so that they’re both laying fully on the floor. Ghoul mumbles something unintelligible, and Kobra struggles to free one arm from his grip. He then uses this arm to lever himself into a sitting position, wraps this arm around Ghoul, and pushes himself to his feet, staggering forward.

    Ghoul slips down a bit before redoubling his grip, hiking himself back up Kobra’s torso. “Fuck you,” he says.

    “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get some food in ya.”

    Ghoul’s always like this when they wake up. He takes a while to be fully aware and in charge of himself, and would rather laze in bed for hours than get up. Kobra’s used to it. He’s been dealing with it for years, and after they got together, the only thing that changed was that he now has to maneuver them both out of bed while Ghoul’s tangled around him like an octopus, which is...challenging, but not necessarily unwelcome.

    He carries Ghoul out into the main area of the diner and over to a booth, barely managing to disentangle himself by ducking his head out from the circle of Ghoul’s arms and pulling hard on Ghoul’s legs until they finally give way. He deposits him in the booth and goes into the kitchen to grab a meal for the both of them.

    They’re running low on food, he notices, especially with another mouth to feed now. They’ll have to get more money soon, but Kobra’s reluctant to send his sibling out anytime soon, not after what happened, and he’s not sure he or Ghoul can really earn enough to buy what they need.

    They’ll figure something out. It’s what they do.

    Kobra turns back to Ghoul’s booth, and sets a can of Power-Pup in front of him, but before he sits down himself, he notices two figures over on the sofa. He can’t help the amused little snort that escapes him.

    Ghoul looks up, eyes still unfocused from sleep. “What?” he asks, shoving a spoon into his can of Power-Pup.

    Kobra just nods in the direction of the sofa, sliding into the booth. Ghoul follows his gesture and lets out a laugh a moment later. “Guess Party’s feelin’ better, huh?” he says, taking a bite of his breakfast--or dinner. Whatever.

    “Yeah.”

    Party and Jet Star are both asleep, his sibling laying on the couch with their head pressed up against the side of Jet Star’s leg. Jet Star’s sitting upright, tilted a little to one side, and his hand is resting in Party’s hair, as though he fell asleep while combing his fingers through the red locks. If Kobra thinks about it, he can pick up a gentle, pleasant feeling, present all throughout the building, and he smiles softly to himself.

    Ghoul’s looking at him again, eyebrow raised. “All good?” he asks, and Kobra feels his smile widen.

    “Yeah,” he says. “All good.”

 

==========

 

    When Jet wakes up, he feels more comfortable than he has in ages, despite the crick in his neck and the staticy feeling in his legs. He opens his eyes, blinking as his eyes adjust to the overall darkness of the room, lit only by a single table lamp on the counter a little ways away. It was still light out when he fell asleep, he’s pretty sure, which means he’s probably been asleep for a while.

    There’s a noise beside him, and he tilts his head to see Party Poison--Party, that is--curled up on the couch, their head propped against his leg. His hand is in their hair, and, well, if Party was awake he’d probably be embarrassed, but they’re not, so he just gently removes his hand and places it on his own leg.

    He doesn’t know exactly when either of them fell asleep, but he remembers talking about something inconsequential--about colors, maybe, or favorite meals--and he remembers wondering what Party’s hair felt like, and he figures he must’ve drifted off while petting their hair.

    It’s not that weird.

    Jet looks around the room again, feeling a little more alert. The main room of the diner is empty, aside from the two of them, but that light was most certainly not on when he’d fallen asleep, so he knows Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul are awake somewhere. Or that they were awake--he doesn’t know what time it is, after all. They might have been here and gone back to sleep already.

    Oh, wait. There’s a clock. Party had pointed it out earlier. Of course.

    He twists around in his seat and squints at it in the half-light. It’s about ten minutes to eight, so that’s actually not bad. Maybe he won’t take too long to get on the desert schedule, after all.

    His stomach growls at the exact same moment Party starts shifting around, and Jet jumps to his feet, staring at them.

    Party opens their eyes and looks at him, yawning. “Fuck,” they say, “I actually fell asleep again, what the hell.” They stretch out their limbs and sit up. “How long you been awake?”

    “Just woke up, too,” says Jet. “Um...you want somethin’ to eat?” Now that Party’s awake, Jet feels...odd. Not exactly _uncomfortable,_ but distinctly strange. It’s not a bad feeling, not at all, but now he’s not quite sure how to act around them.

    “Yeah. ...Oh, fuck, we’re runnin’ low though.” Party stretches their arms over the back of the sofa, looking up at him. “Gonna have to figure out how to get more pretty soon.”

    Jet nods, because he’d noticed they didn’t have much food, and what they did have was literally _dog food,_ so. “How do you get food out here?” he asks, turning and moving toward the kitchen area. “I noticed you only have BL/ind products.”

    Party follows him over to the kitchen and leans against the doorframe, crossing their arms over their chest. “Yeah, well, not a lot grows out in the desert. Definitely not enough to feed all the rebels out here.” They shrug. “So we get most of our food from people who smuggle it outta the city.”

    Jet nods. “Makes sense,” he says. He pulls two cans of dog food from the cupboard and hands one to Party. “Uh...so why the dog food, exactly?”

    Party laughs, shaking their head and moving to drop into one of the diner booths. “It’s easiest to get, I guess,” they say. “BL/ind watches the numbers on like, actual human food way closer than on dog food, so it’s easier to get more at once?”

    “Still pretty gross,” says Jet. He hovers next to the table for a moment, not quite sure if he should sit here or move elsewhere, but then he berates himself--it would be weirder to sit on the opposite end of the room from Party while they’re in the middle of a conversation. He sits across from Party.

    Party snorts. “I’m not gonna disagree,” they say. “But ya gotta do what ya gotta do to survive.”

    Jet looks at them a moment, then nods slowly. The life of a rebel is pretty rough, it seems, but it’s still infinitely preferable to living in the city and working for BL/ind.

    They eat in a silence for a few minutes, then Party says, “Hey. You seen Kobes around since ya been up?”

    He shakes his head. “I’ve been awake for maybe two minutes longer than you have.” He pauses a moment, then adds, “He’s been really worried about you.”

    “Not surprising,” Party says, setting aside their empty can. “I’m all good, though, so hopefully he’ll calm down now.” They stand, and Jet scrambles to finish eating so he can follow them out of the diner.

    The stars are already shining in the sky when they step out, and although Jet’s been here for a few days already, and has seen the stars each night, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to the sight of them. They glitter across the sky, brighter than they’d ever been in the city.

    He barely manages to tear his eyes away from them to follow Party, who’s making their way to another building which Jet hasn’t been inside yet. It’s a workshop of some sort, he knows that--can tell by the piles of scrap metal nearby, and the clanging and buzzing sounds coming from inside.

    Party walks up to the door and bangs on it, hard, twice. They then push the door open, letting light from inside pour out onto the sand, and they shout, “What’s up, assholes? Miss me?”

    The clanging sounds stop, and suddenly Party’s staggering backwards with an audible _oof._ Jet takes a step forward, suddenly worried that they just got hit with something dangerous, like a--a--a robot with a hammer? Jet doesn’t know what they have in their shed in the middle of the desert.

    But it’s not anything dangerous that hits Party. Well--it _is_ something dangerous, but not dangerous to _Party._ It’s just Fun Ghoul, who had presumably flung himself at Party and wrapped his arms around their waist.

    Jet takes two steps back.

    Party laughs, wrapping their own arms around Fun Ghoul and hefting him up. “Hey there, ya rat bastard. Clingy today, huh?”

    “Fuck you,” Fun Ghoul says, squirming until he can drop out of their arms. “Kobra’s been poutin’ since ya went down, and blastin’ all his sad feelings into my head. _So_ annoyin’.”

    “I have _not,”_ Kobra Kid objects, stepping out of the building. “I pick _up_ on feelings, I don’t broadcast ‘em unless I want to. Usually.” He steps forward and claps a hand on Party’s back. “Glad you’re feelin’ better, Party.”

    Party yanks Kobra Kid down and puts him in a headlock. Kobra doesn’t try to escape. He just goes with it.

    Jet can’t help but smile a little at that.

    Once Party releases Kobra Kid, they all move farther away from the building, leaving behind the light from the doorway and stepping further into the darkness. Jet’s still hanging back, unsure.

    “Anythin’ interestin’ come up while I was out?” Party asks. “It’s been, what, a week since this whole thing started?”

    Kobra Kid shrugs. “Not quite. But, nah, nothin’ happened. Been quiet. Think they’re still fixin’ all the stuff we fucked up when we busted you outta there.”

    Party laughs. “Fuck, you prob’ly coulda taken the whole city out, huh?”

    Jet can’t make out facial expressions now, in the darkness, but there’s something tight in Kobra Kid’s voice when he answers. “Probably.”

    “I know you guys are powerful, but damn. You took out the wall like it was nothin’!”

    “I hope we didn’t kill anyone,” says Fun Ghoul, and Jet can see him lean against the taller shadow of Kobra Kid.

    “We didn’t,” says Kobra Kid. “Don’t worry.”

    “Fuck, right.” Party’s voice takes on a worried note. “I didn’t see anyone nearby--’cept that BL/ind agent Jet spotted--but--”

    “That’s why we can’t fight BL/ind head-on, Party,” says Kobra Kid, “you know that. S’too risky.”

    Jet’s kind of surprised. Despite everything, he’s still sort of been thinking of these two as the supervillains BL/ind sold them as--not that he thinks they’re evil, obviously, but he’s still surprised to hear that they’re worried about killing or injuring civilians. For some reason, he hadn’t thought it was something Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid would worry about.

    It’s a relief, though.

    “Hey,” Party says, “so did Jet tell ya ‘bout his power?”

    Jet blinks at the sudden change of subject, shifting as he watches the silhouettes. It’s starting to get cold out, he notices. He should have grabbed his jacket. Or, _a_ jacket--he doesn’t really want anymore connection to BL/ind now that he’s out here, so he’s been borrowing clothes from Kobra Kid. Still. It’s chilly.

    “Nah,” says Kobra Kid. “Tried to ask him about it, but he wouldn’t answer. Pretty good at hidin’ his thoughts, too.”

    All three silhouettes turn toward him, and Jet freezes. “Uh,” he says, because he isn’t quite sure if he’s in trouble, somehow, or if he’s going to have to explain his powers again and deal with the fallout, or what.

    “You’re not in trouble,” says Kobra Kid, and Jet swears he can almost hear the eyeroll. “But if you already told Party, you should tell us, too. We can prob’ly help ya with it.”

    “Fuck yeah,” says Fun Ghoul from Kobra Kid’s side, “Uncontrollably dangerous assholes gotta stick together, y’know.”

    Jet’s still not quite sure. He doesn’t really know why he’s so hesitant. Knows they won’t be like BL/ind and force him to hurt people, knows that they _will_ try to help him. Knows that, despite everything, they’re good people who don’t want to hurt or kill anyone if they can help it. But he’s still--he doesn’t--he _can’t-_ -

    Party’s by his side suddenly, their hand wrapped gently around his upper arm. “Hey,” they say quietly, and Jet shifts his gaze down to theirs. They’re visible now, in the starlight and the little bit of artificial light filtering out from the workshop, and they’re giving him this look, like they understand, like they want to help.

    And Jet already knew this, he _did,_ but there’s something about Party’s presence that makes him let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, something about having Party standing there that makes him nod.

    “Okay,” he says, and he tears his gaze from Party’s to look back at Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid. “Okay,” he says again, and then he tells them everything.

 

==========

 

    Okay, so maybe Fun Ghoul is really fuckin’ ecstatic to see Party up and movin’ around.

    That doesn’t mean he has to admit to it! Everyone already knows, anyway. They’ve both known him long enough that they’re used to the way he acts. How he shows affection.

    And Ghoul’s always been grateful he doesn’t have to fake his feelings around either of them. He can be as clingy or standoffish as he needs to be, and they won’t try and “correct” him or anything. Kobra and Party aren’t like any of the people he lived with as a kid. They understand him.

    He figures Jet Star probably doesn’t understand him yet, but he also figures he’s a pretty decent guy and that he’ll figure him out eventually. And there’s time for that later, anyway, because right now the three of them have to figure _him_ out.

    “So like, stuff all goes to shit when ya get mad, is what you’re sayin’?” Ghoul asks. He’s sitting up against the front of the diner, squished between Party and Kobra, which is a pretty good place to be, especially since the night’s just getting cooler.

    “Not just anger,” says Jet Star, who’s sitting beside Party, “It’s--any negative emotion, I think. And it doesn’t always happen. As long as I’m careful not to think anything too...vaguely threatening, it’s usually fine.”

    Kobra gives a hum in response, shifting and pressing just a little closer to Ghoul. “Explains why your mental shields’re so tough.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll have to see ya use your power to know what’s goin’ on for sure, but I bet I can help ya control it better.”

    Jet Star sounds unsure. “I...yeah, maybe,” he says. Party shifts, leaning away from Ghoul and making him colder. He frowns and presses closer to Kobra, who wraps his arm around him. Much better.

    “You don’t have to worry,” Party says. “Learnin’ to control your power’s important, yeah?”

    “Yeah, but,” says Jet Star, “I don’t wanna--I mean, I don’t know what’ll happen. I don’t wanna--you know. Hurt any of you with it.”

    “We can handle it,” says Kobra. “We can help you keep it in check.”

    “But you don’t know that,” Jet Star pauses, lets out a shaky breath. “My power’s _killed_ people before. I can’t control it.”

    Kobra doesn’t say anything, but he tightens his grip on Ghoul, so Ghoul figures he must be picking up on something from Jet Star’s brain. Something bad. Which, yeah, that sucks. But now Ghoul’s gotta be the one to reassure him, which isn’t really something he’s good at.

    Still, he’s gotta try.

    “So, when I was a kid,” he starts, figuring it’s now or never, “I got my power. I got it early. Like, _way_ early. Five years old.”

    It’s silent for a minute, and then Jet Star says, in a quiet voice, “That young?”

    Ghoul shrugs, knowing he can’t see him. “Yeah. Didn’t know how to control it, either. Anyway, so BL/ind learned about my fuckin’ super-scream ability and picked me up. Three agents.” He pauses. He doesn’t remember what happened at that time, only remembers what people told him. “All dead.”

    “You--?”

    “I was five,” Ghoul interrupts, “And I didn’t know it was even a power--didn’t know it was weird. Didn’t know it could _kill.”_ He pauses again, feels Kobra rubbing a soothing pattern into his shoulder. He doesn’t like to think of the people he’s killed, even if most of them _were_ BL/ind agents. Even if they were all accidents. But he’s better now, knows how to control himself, and he wants to help this guy learn that for himself, too. “Anyway, so, a rebel in the city happened to be close enough to see what happened, and they took me outta the city before BL/ind could get me again.”

    He takes a breath. This is a story he’s told only once, and not for five or six years now. “Anyway. So I get out here to the desert. Five fuckin’ years old. No one ‘round with powers of any kind, no one who can teach me how to control my fuckin’ killin’ scream. So whaddaya think happened next?”

    “...Oh,” says Jet Star.

    “Yeah. I don’t--I don’t really remember most of it. Most’a _them,”_ Ghoul says. He lays his head against Kobra’s shoulder, closes his eyes. “Didn’t really have a home ‘til I was thirteen. Actually--didn’t have one ‘til I was sixteen. But thirteen’s when I gave up on _ever_ havin’ one. No one wanted to keep me around. I hurt people too much. Learned to be quiet when I was younger, but when I was twelve or so, my power started triggerin’ whenever I said...anythin’. When I was upset. It could just go off anytime I said anythin’, and I couldn’t control it, so I just...stopped talkin’. Went off on my own, lived in a rotten ol’ shed, never spoke a word for years.”

    “That...and that...it worked?” Jet Star sounds incredulous.

    Ghoul snorts. “Of fuckin’ _course_ not,” he says. “I mean, I didn’t hurt anyone durin’ that time, but I wasn’t controllin’ my power, either. I was just...not usin’ it. And holdin’ myself back from...from fuckin’ everythin’. From _livin’,_ I guess. And that’s my point--ya can’t just ignore your power and never use it. Ya gotta learn to _control_ it.”

    Silence. Again.

    Then, Jet Star asks, “But...how do I do that? I’ve had this power for ten years, and I’ve never learned to control it. I don’t even really know how it works.”

    “I didn’t learn ‘til I was sixteen,” Ghoul says. “That’s when Kobra started pokin’ around in my head and made me use my power for the first time in years.” He shifts, lifting his head from Kobra’s shoulder and looking up at the stars. “Kobes here helped me figure out what exactly triggered my power, and how to control it--like, actually fuckin’ control it, not just hide it--” Ghoul turns and looks at Kobra, who’s watching him in the dim light, his eyes soft. Ghoul can’t help but smile at him as he continues, “And he helped me figure out that my power wasn’t just destroyin’ shit. There was a whole... _side_ to my power I never knew before. A side that _creates._ And it’s fuckin’ awesome, and I never woulda known about it if I hadn’t taken the chance.”

    Kobra’s lips twitch into a little smile, and he nudges Ghoul lightly. _‘You’re givin’ me too much credit,’_ Ghoul hears in his head.

    _‘Not_ enough, _more like,’_ he replies, and Kobra leans down to press a chaste kiss against his lips.

    “I think I get it,” says Jet Star.

    Ghoul leans back against Kobra, turning towards Party and Jet Star. “Yeah? So ya gonna let us try and help ya?”

    He hears Jet Star take a deep breath, hold it for several seconds, and then let it out in a long, deep sigh. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think...I want to learn to control it. Instead of...letting it control _me.”_

    Party nods. “Good for you,” they say, and they sound excited. They twist around to look at Kobra. “First thing tomorrow, Kobes?”

    “Sounds like a plan,” he says. “So long’s everyone gets up at a decent hour.”

    “No promises,” says Ghoul, and Kobra snickers.

    “First thing tomorrow.” Jet Star sounds nervous, but Ghoul can understand that. You can’t get over your fears in just a day; he knows that better than anyone.

    He’s got a long road ahead of him, but Ghoul knows they’ll all help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost exactly 2 months ago I was awakened at 4:30 AM because Fun Ghoul came to me in a dream and loudly proclaimed me a "rat bastard" so I made Party call him that for purposes of Revenge......
> 
> My zucchini drew Jet sleeping on the couch from last chapter! Check it out!! http://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/183853650581/hes-sweating-a-lot-though-the-short-dark-locks
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave a comment! I love hearing what you have to say! ;u;
> 
> See you next week for chapter 8! ;)


	8. Let's Blow a Hole in this Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet provides a demonstration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya hiya! Week 15! :D
> 
> I don't envy Jet :/
> 
> Big thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and helping me keep everyone in character!! <3  
> Also, big thank you to bluu-ghost on tumblr for drawing some art of last chapter!! Check the notes at the end for a link!! :D
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

When Jet wakes up the next morning, he feels blissfully comfortable for all of a minute and a half, before he remembers that he’s supposed to demonstrate his power this morning. Which means he’s supposed to risk people’s lives this morning.

He’d stupidly hoped that he’d left that behind when he left Battery City, left BL/ind. But it seems that it’s something he’ll always have to deal with, since he has this terrible power. 

He considers, briefly, going back to sleep, if only to delay the inevitable; but then he hears a door open on the other side of the building, a series of thuds and grunts, and then a loud sigh. So Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul are awake and up, and he probably wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep anyway.

Jet sits up on the couch, blinking blearily in the early morning light--this is actually the earliest he’s woken up since he got out here, huh--and turns to look in their direction.

Kobra Kid’s facing one of the booths, Fun Ghoul clinging to his torso with what looks like all four limbs. Kobra Kid’s using his one free arm to shove at Fun Ghoul’s arms, trying to loosen his grip, but it doesn’t seem to be working too well. 

Jet can’t help letting out a little chuckle, and when Kobra Kid glances over at him, he asks, “Need some help?”

Kobra Kid shakes his head. “No. Just--have to--” He gets a better grip on Fun Ghoul’s arm and pushes hard, and Fun Ghoul topples away from him and into the booth with a muttered curse. “Got it,” Kobra Kid says, and then he goes into the kitchen, presumably to get breakfast for the two of them.

Jet Star’s stomach rumbles. Back in Battery City, he got three meals each day, perfectly balanced to provide the proper nutrition necessary for his job as a BL/ind agent. Now he eats a can of dog food once or twice a day.

He doesn’t want to go back, will  _ never _ go back, but he wishes it was easier to get good food out here.

Fun Ghoul seems to be waking up now that he’s been forced to release Kobra Kid, and he’s sitting up in the booth. He lifts one hand in greeting as Jet passes him to get to the kitchen, and Jet sends him a small smile in return. “Good morning,” he says in as cheerful a tone as he can. It doesn’t come out quite right, though, because his voice cracks. That’s another problem with living out here--water is much less readily available. 

Fun Ghoul grunts in reply, and Jet turns toward the kitchen only to narrowly avoid slamming into Kobra Kid.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he says. 

Kobra Kid shrugs, then hands him a can of dog food, already open. “Breakfast,” he says, then slides into the booth beside Fun Ghoul, who immediately grabs one of the other cans from Kobra Kid and starts shovelling it into his mouth.

“Oh,” says Jet, blinking down at the can in his hand. “I--thank you.” 

Kobra Kid shrugs again. “Ya gotta eat,” he says. “Big day today.” He then takes his own advice and proceeds to eat, not quite as voraciously as Fun Ghoul, but nearly.

Jet Star sits on the edge of the booth opposite them and begins to eat as well, careful not to cringe. The dog food--Power-Pup, they all refuse to call it what it  _ actually _ is--actually doesn’t taste too bad, if he doesn’t think about it too hard. 

The thought disturbs him more than he’d like to admit.

They eat together for a few minutes, Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul making idle early-morning conversation, and then Jet hears another door open, and he knows Party’s woken up.

He turns around immediately to give Party a wide smile as they shuffle out of their bedroom and into the dining area. The sight of them, bright red hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other, their face still soft with sleep and their eyes squinting against the faint light of the sun, makes Jet feel a little more comfortable here.

“Hey, Party,” Kobra Kid greets as Party stumbles over to the kitchen. “You look like shit.”

Party flips him off without looking back, and Fun Ghoul, obviously more awake now, lets out a high-pitched giggle. Jet can’t help the little snort of amusement that escapes him, and when Fun Ghoul glances over at him, he quickly shoves a spoonful of dog food into his mouth and averts his gaze.

Party comes over with their breakfast and nudges Jet’s leg until he scoots over, and then they drop into the seat beside him. “Slept like the  _ dead,” _ they say. “Like, I just dropped to sleep, didn’t even  _ dream, _ then I woke up and it was mornin’. What the  _ fuck.” _

“That’s what happens when you’re exhausted, I guess,” Kobra Kid says with a shrug. “Hurry up ‘n’ eat, I wanna get out started with Jet Star.”

Jet freezes, his last spoonful halfway to his mouth. He looks at Kobra Kid, who’s looking back at him. He knows he needs to do this, knows he has to learn to control it--really, Fun Ghoul’s story last night had hit home in more ways than one--but still...maybe he can convince them all to wait another day. Or two. Or--

“No,” Kobra Kid interrupts his thoughts, and Jet blinks, realizing he’d allowed himself to zone out. “You can’t put it off. We’re starting today.”

Party nudges him again, this time with their elbow instead of their knee, and when he looks at them, they say, “You gettin’ cold feet, Jet?”

He shrugs. “Just...worried about the same things I have been.” 

Kobra Kid shrugs. “We’ll just stand an appropriate distance away. Not gonna be a big deal.”

Jet just sighs, finishes his last bite and pushes the empty can away. “Let’s get it over with, then,” he says. Beside him, Party hastily finishes off their own can, simultaneously scooting out of the booth and standing up. 

They swallow, tossing the empty can in the direction of the kitchen--Jet hears it  _ clink _ and roll into a pile of similarly empty cans (seriously, does cleanliness mean  _ nothing _ to these people?)--and then they look at him pointedly. “Well?” they say. “I’d offer ya a cigarette to calm ya down, but I think those bastards in Batt City stole mine.” They turn away, heading for the door. “Let’s go, then!”

Jet follows them outside, Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul trailing behind him.

 

==========

 

“It’s fine,” Kobra reassures Jet Star for what feels like the hundredth time. “We can handle whatever happens.”

Jet Star is standing in the sand, in a wide-open clear spot between the diner and the workshop. He’s jumpy, nervous energy thrumming through him. Kobra’s jumpy, too, because he’s had to open his mind up almost completely to Jet Star’s, so that he can get a proper reading on his powers.

Kobra’s standing near the workshop, at Jet Star’s insistence, and Party and Ghoul are behind him, watching. They’ve been waiting and watching for several minutes, the sun rapidly raising the temperature, and as far as Kobra can tell, he hasn’t even attempted to use his power yet.

“But  _ anything  _ could happen,” Jet Star says, and Kobra’s pretty sure it’s the hundredth time he’s said that, too.

“We can protect ourselves,” Kobra tells him. “Just do it already.”

“C’mon, Jet,” Party calls from their spot in the shade. “Even if somethin’ bad  _ does _ happen, we won’t hold it against ya!”

“That’s not--I’m not worried about  _ that!” _ Jet Star calls back, but Kobra can clearly hear his thoughts:  _ ‘--they’ll kick me out, send me back to the city, or maybe I’ll hurt one of them,  _ kill _ one of them, I don’t want to do that, what if Party gets caught up in it, or one of the others, I don’t want--’ _

Kobra winces, shutting out Jet Star’s mind for a moment so he can collect his thoughts. “We’re not gonna send you back to the city,” he says, barely suppressing an eyeroll. “And seriously, don’t worry so damn much. You think our shit doesn’t get wrecked all the time anyway? Just-- _ do it _ already. Fuckin’ hot out here.”

Jet Star’s quiet for a moment, and then he takes a shaky breath and gives a quick nod. “Okay,” he says. “I--okay. I’m ready.”

Kobra opens his mind to him again, listening carefully to his thoughts and paying close attention to his emotions. Jet Star’s still nervous, but now Kobra’s picking up more of his determination, and less of his worry. That’s a good sign.

_ ‘--a vague statement, something simple, nothing big, what should I think--’  _

Kobra doesn’t interrupt Jet Star’s thoughts this time, because this is the first time he’s seeing him use his powers, and he needs to observe them without interference. It isn’t like he can offer a suggestion, anyway.

_ ‘--okay, I think I just need to go for it, so--’  _ Jet Star takes another breath, eyes falling closed.  _ ‘They don’t understand. I want to  _ make _ them understand.’ _

Everything’s still for a moment, and then Jet Star opens his eyes again and looks around. “I...did it work?”

“Nothin’ happened,” Ghoul says, dropping down to draw patterns in the sand with his fingertips. “Was kinda expectin’, like, a  _ boom _ or somethin’, y’know?”

“Yeah,” says Kobra. “I don’t think you actually triggered your power. I didn’t feel anythin’.”

“Damn it,” Jet Star says softly, kicking at the sand with the toe of one shoe. “I’ve only intentionally done it...once or twice. I don’t know….”  _ ‘--if I can’t do anything then it doesn’t matter, right, we can just go about our business and not worry about it anymore--’ _

“We’re not quitting,” Kobra says, and Jet Star flinches. It’s almost amusing, how often Jet Star seems to forget that Kobra can hear his thoughts.

“...You said that your power’s triggered by negative emotions, right?” Party pipes up, stepping up beside Kobra and watching Jet Star. They tilt their head to the side. “So maybe you’re just not dealin’ with anythin’ too negative right now.”

“No, I’ve got plenty of negative emotions over here,” Jet Star says.

“Yeah,” says Kobra, “but it’s all nervousness. Maybe that’s not strong enough to trigger it.”

Jet Star looks over at him and shrugs. “I--it usually happens when I’m angry.”

Ghoul doesn’t look up from his sand-drawing. “Then we’ve just gotta make ya mad, right?”

Kobra cracks his knuckles. “I can do that,” he says, and Jet looks at him warily.

“Uh,” he says, “...You’re not gonna fight me or something, are you?”

Party snorts, and Kobra elbows them in the ribs. “No,” he says. “I’m gonna manipulate your anger levels so you can do your thing.”

“Uh,” Jet Star says again, “that, um...is that a good idea?”

Kobra hums, shrugging. “We’ll see,” he says. “Now, get ready.” He looks at Party. “And you. Get back.”

Party shoots another look at Jet Star, then steps back and sits in the sand next to Ghoul.

Kobra lets his eyes fall closed, mind fully open to Jet Star, _ ‘--if I’m angry what if it makes things worse, what if he makes me  _ too _ angry, what if I can’t control it, what if I hurt them I don’t want to hurt them-- _ ’ and he feels around for that thread of anger. It’s barely present right now, but he finds it, and he focuses on it, feeds it, builds it up.

“Oh, damn,” Party says from behind him. “Think it’s workin’, Kobes.”

Kobra opens his eyes and looks at Jet Star, still standing in that clearing several yards away. He’s breathing heavily now, though, shoulders rising and falling, face flushed, and his eyes are wide, eyebrows drawn together.

Oh yeah. Jet Star’s fucking  _ pissed. _

Kobra keeps his mind open to Jet Star’s, keeping that anger where it needs to be and focusing now on Jet Star’s thoughts, waiting for him to finally use his power.

_ ‘They all need to pay for this.’ _

As soon as the thought has crossed his mind, Kobra feels his scalp tingle just slightly, and he knows the power’s been triggered. He feels something else, too, but he can’t focus on it now, because he’s dropping his hold on Jet Star’s anger, focusing instead on the diner, which is making a weird groaning sound.

“Uh,” says Party. “Um, so, did it--”

They’re interrupted by the roof of the diner suddenly collapsing, a cacophony of snaps and crashes filling the air, along with a spray of wood chips and sand.

Everyone scrambles backward, and Kobra nearly trips over Ghoul in the process, but manages to catch himself just in time, holding onto the side of the workshop as he watches the diner fall apart.

“No, no,  _ no! _ Shit--no!” Jet Star leaps forward, as though he can single-handedly stop the building from collapsing, and Party runs toward him.

“Wait, don’t get too close!” Party grabs Jet Star by the back of the shirt, yanking him back against their chest, and they stand there, silent, until the wreckage settles.

Everything’s quiet for a long moment afterward, broken only when Ghoul says, “Wow. You weren’t kiddin’, huh?”

Jet Star moans, ducking his head down to hide his face in his hands.

 

==========

 

“I mean, it’s not that bad. The whole left side of the diner is fine, the bedrooms and the bathroom and, uh, most of the kitchen,” says Party, climbing back out the window. “It’s just, like, the dining area that’s busted. The roof and, um, like half of one wall.”

“So most of it,” Fun Ghoul says, and Jet ducks his head again, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids. 

“I’m so,  _ so _ sorry,” he says. He hears footsteps in the sand, and then someone plops down next to him.

“You don’t hafta keep apologizin’,” says Party. Jet lowers his hands and blinks at Party, who’s got a smear of dirt on their cheek. “We know it was an accident, and it‘s not like it can’t be fixed.”

“But I--I broke your  _ house,” _ Jet says incredulously. He honestly can’t believe the three of them aren’t sending him packing yet. His power caused the roof to cave in! He hadn’t wanted that to happen!

Not that he’d wanted to use his powers in the first place, but, well. He’d hoped that his powers would maybe just break a window or make it rain. Actually, causing rain would probably be a good thing, and definitely not what his powers did. Unless it was, like, a  _ flood. _ And come to think of it, have his powers ever caused something as mundane as a cracked window? 

It’s official: Jet’s never using his power again. Screw learning to control it! He’s just going to make sure it never gets triggered again!

“That’s a stupid plan,” Kobra Kid says, looking over the diner. He and Jet make brief eye contact before Jet drops his gaze to his lap again. “And anyway, it’s not like anyone died or even got hurt. We can fix the roof.”

Jet shakes his head. “This time,” he says.  _ “This _ time no one got hurt. But what about next time? If I use my power again, I don’t know that it won’t cause something  _ worse! _ If you--if I  _ killed- _ -”

“Hey!” It’s Party who barks this out, and Jet doesn’t turn toward them, but he finds himself looking into their eyes anyway, their hand cupping his chin and holding him there so he can’t move away. 

“Hey,” Party says again, softer this time. “Look. I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly what you’re goin’ through, ‘cause I don’t. But I  _ am _ gonna tell you that you need to stop worryin’ so much.” Their eyes shift slightly, and Jet feels like they’re searching his face for something. He says nothing, and they continue, “You can’t let your power- _ -or _ your anxiety over it--control you. You’ve gotta take control of  _ it. _ And you  _ can _ do it. We’re gonna help you.”

Jet feels his breath catch in his throat. “I--but do you really want to...you’re risking  _ everything _ by helping me. It’s not an exaggeration--you’re risking  _ everything.” _ He can’t quite wrap his head around it. This person--these people--are willing to risk their home, their livelihoods, their  _ lives _ just to help him.

But, if he thinks about it, that’s not too different from what he’s tried to do for complete strangers, either.

Party strokes their thumb across the patch of skin beneath his lower lip, still watching him. “We risk all that on a daily basis,” they say. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll figure it out.  _ You’ll  _ figure it out.” They drop their hand, and Jet’s surprised to find that he misses the contact, and that he feels...relieved. Relaxed, in a way he can’t remember ever feeling.

He just destroyed a  _ house _ and now he just feels  _ relaxed. _ That’s weird.

Kobra Kid clears his throat, and Jet looks up. “Now that you’re calm,” he says, “I noticed somethin’ when you used your power.”

Jet blinks at him, waiting.

“It’s not anger or negative whatever that triggers your power,” Kobra Kid continues, and Jet sucks in a breath, because if it’s not those things, if it’s not him being upset that sets off his power, then what  _ does? _ How can he hold back his thoughts and keep his power in check if he doesn’t even know what to watch out for? “Calm down,” Kobra Kid says with a wince. “Stop thinking so hard. Anyway. It’s not what you thought it was. It’s not emotions at all. It’s adrenaline.”

“Adrenaline?” Jet’s staring up at Kobra Kid from his place on the ground. Adrenaline. Not anger. Not fear. _ Adrenaline. _ Not emotions at all--not really. What does this mean? For him, for his power?

Kobra Kid shrugs. “I’ll have to observe a few more times to feel out the best way to control it,” he says. “And I think you’re right--ya can’t use your power here.”

Jet nods, but beside him, Party says, “And where else is he s’posed to go? It’s risky, yeah, but how’s he s’posed to learn his power out on his own?” They sound...exasperated, maybe.

“Are you forgettin’  _ our _ powers, Party?” Kobra rolls his eyes. “We’ll find an empty spot in the desert and let him go wild, and I’ll monitor his brain from here. Not gonna be that hard.”

Huh. “That actually...sounds like a good idea,” Jet says. “Why didn’t we do that in the first place?”

Kobra Kid shrugs. No one says anything for a minute.

Then Fun Ghoul stands up, dusting off his pants, and says, "So who's gonna help me put this piece of shit back together?"

Party shoots to their feet. “I’ll get the hammer!” 

Jet watches them run off to the workshop with a feeling of fondness in his chest.

Maybe this really will work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kobra's power is like honestly so scary to me. Good thing he *doesn't* work for BL/ind lmao.
> 
> Check out this ART!! I was so excited to see it, we got an (adorable) asshole koala and some cute!! sofa!! snuggles!!  
> https://bluu-ghost.tumblr.com/post/184044882853/uhh-colouring-sketches-from-when-i-was-reading  
> (thank you again!! :D)
> 
> Next week's gonna be a fun chapter!! finally gonna introduce some more characters, lmao. ;) See ya then, and thanks for reading!!


	9. Put the Pieces Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone heads out on a shopping trip.  
> Jet gets flirted with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 16! The year-long challenge is already 1/3 of the way done!!
> 
> Happy Easter to those who celebrate Easter, happy Passover to those who celebrate Passover, and happy belated 4/20 to everyone else!  
> This is a fun chapter ;)
> 
> Thank you as always to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading this and just being awesome in general!! <3
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: some discussion of sex

“This isn’t working.” Ghoul sighs and tosses a stack of wood off the edge of the roof and into the sand. One of the boards lands upright, stuck in the sand. Party eyes it, then kicks it over so it falls into a pile with the rest.

It’s the next day, and they’re all trying to put the diner back together before it gets too hot. It’s not going so great, and Party’s hair’s all gritty and gross. They aren’t pleased.

“We need more material,” Kobra says from in front of the workshop. “A lot of the wood got busted too much for it to work again.” He points at Jet, who’s looking sadly at another pile of scrap wood. “And stop fuckin’ apologizin’, we  _ know _ you’re sorry.”

Jet looks up. “Oh, sor--” He’s cut off when a bolt, precisely aimed by Ghoul up on the roof, hits him in the back of the head.  _ “Ow!” _

Kobra rolls his eyes before turning and going inside the workshop, leaving the three of them outside.

Party sighs. “Gonna need money,” they say. They tilt their head back and holler up at Ghoul, “Yo, Ghoul! How many carbons ya got stashed away?”

Ghoul peers down at them, then leaps off the roof, landing on his feet with only a little stumble. Party doesn’t allow themself to look impressed. “‘Bout 30, I think,” Ghoul says. “Got some finished projects in the workshop, though. We can trade some of those.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s great,” Party says, relieved. “Really didn’t wanna go cheat at pool again right away.”

Jet looks up at them, still rubbing the back of his head. “Pool?” he asks, pursing his lips and tilting his head just slightly. It’s kind of a cute expression, honestly. Does Jet always look so cute when he’s confused? Whatever. That’s a thought for another day.

“Yeah,” says Ghoul before they can reply, “This idiot uses their telekinesis to fuckin’  _ cheat _ at  _ pool. _ For  _ money.” _ He laughs, laying down in the sand and closing his eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t do the same damn thing if I had a power more subtle than _ literally goddamn screaming.” _

Party folds their arms over their chest and lets out a little huff. “Can’t call me a fuckin’ idiot when my pool playin’s all that’s keepin’ us fed out here. Anyway, most of my pool playin’ is  _ real  _ and  _ honest. _ I only cheat when I’ve gotta.”

“You cheat at pool?” Jet’s lips are still pursed, but now his eyebrows are drawn together, and Party can’t tell if he looks mad or just puzzled. Hopefully just puzzled.

They hasten to explain. “No! I--only sometimes!” Fuck, that’s not an explanation at all. “It’s for money!” That’s just worse. “I only use my power against people who deserve it!” Okay, that’s probably a lie. “I-- _ fuck!” _

“You fuck?” Ghoul giggles, cracking an eye open to look at them. “Since when?”

“Since--oh, fuck you, Ghoul!” Party groans, throwing their head back to glare up at the sky.

“Nah, that’s what I’ve got your brother for.” Party’s not even looking at him, but they can just  _ hear _ that self-satisfied smirk on Ghoul’s face.

Party makes the loudest, most horrific retching sound they can muster up, shooting Ghoul what they hope is a terrifying glare. “I don’t wanna hear it!” they say. “I don’t wanna hear it, I don’t wanna hear it,  _ do not--ever!-- _ say anything like that about my brother again!”

_ ‘Me ‘n’ Ghoul fuck, like, all the time. Twenty-four seven. We’re like fuckin’  _ rabbits.’

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up, Kobra!” Party has the strongest urge to shove their head in the sand and just stay there. “I’m gonna bleach my goddamn  _ brain, _ oh my god,  _ never _ speak to me again!”

Ghoul laughs again, the little bastard, and when Party looks up to chew him out, they catch Jet’s gaze again and pause. Jet looks, like...honestly kinda fuckin’ baffled. 

“Uh,” he says. He and Party stare at each other for a long moment before Party can’t help it anymore--they just start laughing, leaning over with one hand pressed to their stomach, and,  _ god _ , why is this so fucking  _ funny _ ? This is basically a normal, everyday occurrence for the three of them--trying to gross each other out in one way or another--but apparently the addition of Jet, who’s still really a newcomer and has no goddamn  _ clue _ what’s going on, just makes the whole situation  _ hilarious _ .

Party flops down in the sand, still giggling. “Fuck,” they say. “ _ Fuck _ . Jet. Your _ face _ , oh my god.  _ Fuck!” _

“Uh,” Jet says again. He sounds amused now, rather than confused, and Party’s glad for it. It’s  _ hilarious _ , after all, and they’re glad he agrees!

_ ‘He’s laughing at  _ you _ , dumbass,’ _ comes Kobra’s smug thoughts. He’s still in the workshop, the fucker. 

_ ‘Shut the hell up,’ _ Party sends back,  _ ‘and let me enjoy this!’ _

_ ‘We should prob’ly get movin’ if we wanna get supplies before it gets too hot,’ _ Kobra thinks to all three of them. He comes out of the workshop, arms full of bits of metal and machinery. “Someone wanna gimme a hand with this shit?”

Party’s still sprawled out in the sand, giggling, and Ghoul just cracks an eye open at Kobra and shrugs with a little grin, but Jet hops to his feet, hurrying over and snagging a couple of things out of Kobra’s arms.

Kobra nods to him. “Thanks,” he says, and starts walking to the Trans Am. “Careful with those, they’re kinda delicate.”  
Party tunes their brother out and looks over at Ghoul, who’s now attempting to wriggle out of his shirt for some reason. “What the fuck are you doing?” Party asks, deadpan, and Ghoul throws his shirt at them before laying back down in the sand. Party absolutely does _not_ shriek, thank you very much, but they do swat the sweaty, stinky shirt away from their face and shoot Ghoul a glare.

“Sunbathin’,” he says. 

Party rolls their eyes. “Fuck, why? You’re gonna sweat buckets and drink all our water, get sunburnt to hell, and get heatstroke. Again!”

Ghoul shrugs. “Feels nice today.”

“Not a good reason!” Party digs a hole in the sand and shoves Ghoul’s shirt in, then buries it. It’s what he deserves.

“Did you just stick my boyfriend’s shirt in the sand?” Kobra asks, and Party looks up to see he and Jet have come back.

Party nods. “He’s an idiot,” they say. “You need a new boyfriend.”

“M’kay,” Kobra says. “Guess Jet Star’s my boyfriend now.”

“Hey!” says Ghoul, sitting up faster than Party’s ever seen him move. 

At the same time, Jet gives a nervous chuckle and his trademark “Uh….” and his face is growing flushed--not from the heat, either. God, does he really blush as easy as that? It’s fuckin’  _ cute _ .

Party snorts. “Don’t think your new boyfriend’s all that thrilled with the idea, Kobes.”

“Damn,” says Kobra, deadpan as ever. “Guess I’m stuck with Ghoul then.” 

“Damn straight you are!” Ghoul’s on his feet, glaring at Kobra with his hands on his hips. He’s clearly trying to look intimidating, and absolutely failing at it.

“Thought we were damn  _ gay _ ,” Kobra says, and turns to climb in the window of the diner, which is currently the best way in or out since the front doors are still pretty much crushed by the roof.

Ghoul runs after him. “No,  _ you’re _ damn gay, I’m fuckin’  _ pan _ , where the hell are you going?!”

“To get you a shirt.”

They both disappear into the diner, and Party laughs. Huh. They’ve been doing that a lot lately.

“Your family is, uh,” says Jet. Party looks at him again, and his blush has unfortunately died down, and now he just looks vaguely amused. It’s still a good look on him.

“Yeah, they  _ are _ pretty ‘uh,’” Party says teasingly. They stand and move closer to Jet, who’s watching them closely. They raise an eyebrow at him. “Somethin’ you wanna say?” they ask.

“Um...I don’t know if it would be rude to ask or not.”

“Mm. I dunno, we have a kinda different definition of the word ‘rude’ out here than they’ve got in Batt City, if ya haven’t noticed.” 

“Oh, no, I definitely noticed. Um, you don’t have to answer if it  _ is _ weird. But…” Jet pauses, frowning. “...How common is this kinda thing out here?”

“What kinda thing?”

“You know. Um.” Jet waves a hand vaguely at the diner, and Party notes that the blush is back again.

“What?” Party’s pretty sure they know what he’s talking about, but it’s kinda fun to watch Jet get flustered, so they’re gonna see how long they can let this drag out.

“Two men being in a romantic relationship.” Aw. Not long, apparently.

Party shrugs. “‘Bout as common as any other kinda relationship.” 

“Oh.” Jet nods, and his eyes have a far away look to them. He frowns slightly.

Party feels a pang in their gut, and they fight to keep from snapping at him. “Is that a problem?” they ask as calmly as possible, because really, they know that if Jet had a problem with it, he would’ve said something days ago, or at least acted differently than he has been. Plus, he was totally cool about Party’s whole gender thing, and honestly they know plenty of people out  _ here _ who aren’t one-hundred percent cool with that, so Jet’s already on their good list. Still, Party’s protective of their brother and his boyfriend. They want to be sure.

Jet’s eyes widen. “Oh!” he says, and quickly shakes his head. “No, no, of course not. It’s kind of the opposite.”

Ooh, now Party’s previous misgivings have all vanished, and their interest is piqued. “Opposite?” they ask, slinking closer to Jet. “You wanna elaborate on that, maybe?”

He shrugs, not moving away. “I, well--I just.” he pauses. “You know how it is in Battery City,” he says, and Party nods, because they’re sure not much has changed in the six years since they lived there. “Right. Romance is just for, uh. Increasing population rates.” There’s another pause, and Party just gives him a little smirk. Jet clears his throat before continuing, “Uh. Anyway. It’s just nice to see people together because they actually love each other, and not just because BL/ind wants them to be.” He looks toward the diner again, and then back at Party.

Party grins and nods. “Yeah, man. I get what you mean. Fuck, as much as I give ‘em a hard time, I’m glad they’ve got each other. They’re good for each other, y’know?”

“Yeah,” says Jet. “It seems like it.”

They hum in response. “...So, what about you?”

“... _ What _ about me?”

“Did you have a _special_ _somebody_ back in the city?”

“Oh! Oh, no. I, uh, I didn’t really have time for that kind of thing. I, um, was never really interested in anyone enough, anyway.” He looks kind of embarrassed now, avoiding Party’s gaze--and it’s obvious that’s what he’s doing, because the sand really isn’t that interesting.

“Never?”

“No. Not in Battery City. I mean--BL/ind wanted me to, you know, because apparently superhero genes are the best and need to be passed around, or something,” Jet wrinkles his nose, and Party can’t agree with that sentiment more--honestly, BL/ind treats most of the citizens as possessions, and using their “most valued employees” as breeding stock just isn’t that surprising to them. “Anyway, I managed to avoid getting, uh, set up. Probably because I was such a pain in the ass they decided there was no point.” Jet Star gives a little laugh, and Party smiles back.

“Well, you’re out of there now,” they say. “And we’re a lot freer out here. You can make your own decisions about who you date, and all that. Date who you want to.”

“Yeah,” says Jet, and he’s looking at Party again, lips quirked in a little smile. “Yeah. I’ll remember that.” 

Are they having a moment? Party thinks they might be having a moment. Of some kind. Before they can reply, though, Kobra and Ghoul emerge from the window, Ghoul dressed in a new shirt and looking far more smug than someone who’s just gone in to grab a new shirt honestly should.

Gross.

“Okay,” Kobra says, striding across the sand to the car, “Stop gazin’ into each other’s eyes and let’s get goin’. Gotta go get those sweet, sweet carbons.”

Jet flushes again, quickly turning to follow Kobra. Party can’t help but be a bit disappointed.

 

==========

 

So apparently this Tommy Chow Mein guy is the main trader out here in the desert, and  _ the _ guy to go to if you need something to eat, or if you have specialty items to sell, like machinery or weapons. 

He’s also kind of an asshole, and Jet really doesn’t envy Party or the others for having to deal with him on a regular basis.

“Only twenty carbons? Are you  _ kidding _ me?” Fun Ghoul growls out, and Kobra Kid has to grab the collar of his jacket to keep him from launching himself across the counter. “Do you  _ know _ how long it took me to fix the fuckin’ thing?! How long it took me to track down all the fuckin’  _ components _ ?! It’s worth at  _ least _ fifty carbons!”

“Twenty,” Tommy Chow Mein says again, examining his nails and looking utterly unconcerned with Fun Ghoul’s outburst. 

“Thirty carbons, and throw in some’a those canned peaches,” Party says, propping their elbows on the counter. “Not every day ya see a functionin’ Drac gun come in, is it Mr. Chow Mein?”

Tommy Chow Mein looks up from his nails to look at Party, considering. “...Twenty-five carbons, and three cans of peaches.”

“Thirty, and four cans.”

They stare each other down for maybe a minute. Jet doesn’t know anything about haggling, but he figures this is part of the process. He doesn’t want to interrupt them, so he continues his examination of the shop they’ve found themselves in.

It looks almost like a corner store back in Battery city, if corner stores operated out of rundown motels and stocked things like torn T-shirts and seemingly unstable grenades and inflatable rafts (and who’s going to buy an inflatable raft in the middle of the desert, anyway?). Still, there’s several shelves of goods--mostly food, a hell of a lot of which is that Power-Pup dog food everyone seems so fond of--and a few people are browsing while he watches. He wonders just how many people live out here, away from BL/ind’s control.

“Alright,” says Tommy Chow Mein, bringing Jet’s attention back to the deal at hand. “Thirty carbons, four cans of peaches.” He holds out his hand, and Party, smirking, clasps it in their own and shakes it once.

“Good deal, Tommy,” they say, and hand over the ray gun--ignoring Fun Ghoul’s grumbling protests.

Tommy Chow Mein takes the gun and stashes it beneath the counter, then slides several bills across the top of it. Party grabs them, counts them quickly, nods, and sticks the carbons in their jacket pocket. 

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya, Tommy,” they say. “Kobes, go grab our peaches. Jet! Come help me load up a barrel of water.” Party pulls out some of the carbons they’ve just put away and slaps them down again as they say this, then starts heading for a far corner of the shop. Jet hurries to follow them.

“Did you get a good deal?” he asks. “I don’t know what carbons are worth out here.”

Party shrugs. “Pretty good deal. Peaches are pretty much a fuckin’ delicacy out here, only get ‘em when Mother Hen can sneak ‘em out, and thirty carbons is nothin’ to sneeze at. Still. Maybe I shoulda asked for cigs instead’a peaches. I haven’t had a smoke in ages.” They lead him over to a stack of several barrels, some wooden, some plastic, and a couple of metal ones. “Usually we just bring our own barrels and fill ‘em up, but since there’s four of us now, ‘s prob’ly a good idea to get another one.” They grab an empty blue plastic barrel and pry it open, sticking their head inside.

“Uh,” says Jet, in lieu of any other response.

Party straightens up and passes the barrel to him. “Gotta make sure it’s safe,” they explain. “The plastic barrels are prob’ly best, but not if they had chemicals or somethin’ in ‘em. C’mon, let’s go fill it up out back.”

Jet nods. He carries the barrel in front of him as they both walk out a back door, back into the steadily-increasing heat of the desert. “So where do we go to get the wood?” he asks.

Party waves him toward a faucet on the back wall of the building, and takes the barrel from him to position it underneath. They turn the faucet on, and the sound of water striking the bottom of the plastic barrel echoes inside it. “We’re gonna be here a while,” they say. “Fuck, wish there was a well at the diner. Be so much easier.” They pause. “Mm. Gotta go out a ways to get the wood. There’s usually a couple gals who trade buildin’ materials around here ‘bout once a week, but I haven’t seen ‘em in a month or two, so I figure they found a better place to set up shop. There’s a couple other traders who live farther out in the desert, though. Should be able to get there and back before it gets too hot, but we won’t be able to work until tonight….”

Jet cringes. He doesn't say he's sorry, but only because he knows that if he does, Party will start ranting about how it isn't his fault and he shouldn't feel guilty about it--which feels patently untrue. It's clearly his fault, and he wishes he could just fix everything.

“Party! Fancy seein’ you here!” 

Jet turns to face the owner of this new voice and he can only stare at the person who’s coming toward them. This person--well. They’re certainly flamboyant. Even more so than Party is, if that’s possible. They’re dressed primarily in white--not Better Living white, though, that much is obvious. Tight white pants with blue dots all over them. A white crop top, beneath which he can see a flash of black--a second shirt? They have long, dark hair, glitter painted across their eyelids and their cheekbones. They also have a pair of roller skates strapped to their feet, and somehow they’re skating across the sand toward the two of them.

“Pony!” Party exclaims, closing the gap to hug the newcomer to their chest. Jet ignores the sudden pang in his own chest and nods in greeting to this person--Pony?

“Haven’t seen ya ‘round lately,” Pony says. “Was startin’ to wonder if you were avoidin’ me!” They turn their gaze on Jet, and he sees their eyes narrow in interest. He shifts slightly, peering into the barrel, which isn’t even a quarter full yet. “Hm, and who’s your new friend?”

“Wouldn’t avoid you, Pony! Just had a lot goin’ on.” Party turns toward Jet as well, grinning. “This is Jet Star! He’s new out here. Be nice to him or I’ll feed your skates to Ghoul.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure that little gremlin ate the wheels off one of my other pairs a year or so ago. I’ll stay on your good side, I think.” They wink at Party before turning their attention back to Jet. “So! Fresh outta Batt City, hmm?” They give him a once-over, nodding to themself. “Not bad, Party, not bad _at_ _all_. I’m Show Pony, by the way.” They wink at him.

Jet feels himself getting flustered. Is Show Pony flirting with him? He’s pretty sure they’re flirting. They’re--well. They’re obviously pretty attractive, if a little weird. Should he say something in return? Should he flirt back? Does he  _ want _ to flirt back? Maybe. Kind of? What is he supposed to  _ do _ in this kind of situation?

“Pony! Thought I said to be  _ nice _ to him.” Party sounds kind of angry. Defensive? Jet glances over at them and sees that they’re glaring at Show Pony. Why are they glaring? Wait, was Show Pony actually insulting him? Not flirting? That’s pretty disappointing.

“I’m being  _ very _ nice to him, Party,” Show Pony says, still watching Jet, and they lick their lips. And--okay, uh, that’s  _ definitely _ flirting, right?

“Okay! Okay, uh, you’re really not.” Party folds their arms over their chest, shifting to stand a little taller.

Show Pony looks at them for a long moment before laughing. “Oh!” they say. “Oh, Party, I’m sorry baby. Didn’t realize he was off the table.”

“What? No, he--I’m--no, he’s still on the table!”

Jet blinks. “Wha--? What table?” Is  _ this _ flirting? Jet just feels thoroughly confused now.

Pony hums out a reply, seeming amused. “Party, sweetie, you don’t have to hide it. I don’t touch what belongs to others, you know that. Well, unless they’re willing to share.” They pause, looking between Party and Jet, and then they laugh again. “Oh,  _ I _ see.” They wink at Party, who turns about as red as their hair. Jet’s definitely missing something, but he doesn’t ask what it is Show Pony sees. He’s kind of afraid to know.

“Well, anyway,” Pony continues, smirking, “I’m havin’ a li’l shindig tomorrow night. You should come. Both of you,” they wink at Jet again, “oh, and your brother and his pet rat, of course, Party baby.”

Party clears their throat. “Right,” they say. “Right, yeah, I’ll pass along the invite.”

“Mm. You better be there.” Show Pony’s still smirking when they lean in to hug Party again. “Seriously, been missin’ ya, Party.” They reach out to Jet and lay their fingers gently on his arm. “Hope to see ya there, Jet Star.

“Uh,” he says. “Yeah, okay. See you.”

Party kicks sand at Show Pony. “Get outta here!” they say. 

Show Pony laughs again, seemingly unbothered by Party’s actions, and they turn and skate away. “Bye-bye, you two!” they singsong over their shoulder.

It’s quiet for a moment after they leave, the only sound that of the barrel, which is now nearly full. Jet breaks the silence first. “So,” he says. “That was. Interesting.”

Party sighs. “That was my ex,” they say. “They’re lots’a fun, but they’re...well. They’re Pony.” They shrug.

“Yeah.” Jet shifts on his feet, peering into the barrel again. “...Were they flirting with me?”

“What?!” It’s probably an understatement to describe Party’s tone as alarmed, but that’s really all Jet can think of. He looks at them, concerned, and they’re staring at him with wide eyes. “I--I mean, I don’t know, maybe.”

Jet shrugs. “They’re, um.” For some reason he doesn’t want to tell Party that he thinks Show Pony’s kind of hot. Maybe because they’re Party’s ex? Anyway, he doesn’t think he could ever date Show Pony. It doesn’t feel right, somehow. It would have been nice to try flirting, though, on a willing participant. Oh, well. “Oh, hey, the barrel’s full.” He reaches over and turns off the faucet. “So, how do we get this to the car? It’s, uh, a lot heavier now than it was earlier.

Party seems to appreciate the change in subject. They roll their eyes. “Obviously, we’re gonna move the car,” they say. “And who d’you think you’re talkin’ to?” They flex the fingers of one hand, and the barrel slides to the left and then back to the right, settling back down.

“Right,” says Jet. “But, um, don’t you have to hide that?”

Party nods. “Yeah. You’ll see,” they say cryptically, and now it’s Jet’s turn to roll his eyes. He does so exaggeratedly, with a smile present on his face so Party will know he’s joking.

Party grins at him. “I’m gonna get the car,” they say. “Wait here for Kobes and Ghoul, yeah? Be right back.”

“Sure,” Jet says to their retreating back. He looks down at the barrel, realizes it’s still open, and picks up the lid from where Party must have set it, leaning it against the building.  
  
He’s securing the lid when Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul come out of the building. “Hey,” he says. “Party went to get the car.”

Kobra Kid nods. “We got the peaches. And some other stuff.”

Fun Ghoul lifts up a ripped and torn paper sack, full of cans. Jet wrinkles his nose.

“Please tell me there’s not dog food in there,” he says.

Fun Ghoul just grins at him. Jet sighs. He wonders if they can get mustard out here. Mustard might make the dog food more palatable. 

“Too expensive,” Kobra Kid says. “Anyway, it doesn’t work. Ketchup’s a little better. Still too expensive, though.”

“Please stop listening to my thoughts.”

Kobra Kid shrugs. “Stop thinkin’ so loud,” he says. “Ghoul. Which is better on Power-Pup? Ketchup or mustard?”

“Neither,” Fun Ghoul says. “It’s plenty good on its own.”

Jet barely manages to hold back a retching sound. He settles for wrinkling his nose again, and Kobra Kid snorts. 

“You’re weird, Ghoul.”

“Am not. You love me, anyway.”

“That’s beside the point. Oh, here comes Party.”

Jet tears his eyes away from the little love scene happening next to him and focuses on the Trans Am, which is barrelling toward them. Should they get out of the way? It kind of looks like Party might crash into all of them. He’s actually kind of surprised he’s only vaguely worried about that possibility, and not panicking and diving out of the way immediately.

The car comes to an abrupt stop, and Party leans out the window. “Hello, dearest brother,” they say. “Get your ass in gear and plonk that barrel in the trunk, will ya?”

Kobra Kid snorts. “Plonk,” he repeats. He walks over to the barrel and grabs one side, looking at Jet. “Get the other side, yeah?”

Jet nods, wiping some sweat from his brow before he takes hold of it. He’s not looking at Party, but he can tell when they use their power because suddenly the barrel’s rising up, and rather than lifting it, he’s just holding onto it and hoping it doesn’t launch up into the sky or something.

He and Kobra Kid guide the barrel over to the trunk, which Fun Ghoul opens, and they lay it on its side and roll it in.

“Wow,” says Kobra Kid, “what a workout.”

“Fuck off, Kobes,” Party calls back to him. They laugh. “Get in the car, let’s go get our fuckin’ wood planks and shit!”

Jet grins. He rushes past Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul, climbing into the front seat beside Party. “Hi,” he says.

Party blinks at him, opens their mouth to say something, but Kobra Kid cuts them off. 

“That’s the brother seat,” he says, peering in the window at him.

“Not today,” says Jet. “Now it’s the Jet Star seat.”

Kobra Kid stares at him a few moments later, then snorts and gets in the back seat. “Fine,” he says, “but I’m gonna snuggle Ghoul the whole trip.”

Party lets out what can only be considered a guffaw. “Like ya wouldn’t anyway! Shoulda stuck you back there a long time ago. Least then you wouldn’t nearly break your goddamn elbow tryin’ to hold his hand.”

Fun Ghoul’s sitting in his usual spot in the backseat, holding the paper sack in his lap. “Kobra,” he says, “I fuckin’ love you, but it’s five billion degrees. We’re  _ not _ snugglin’.”

Kobra Kid reaches over and holds Fun Ghoul’s hand. Fun Ghoul sighs in defeat and leans against Kobra Kid’s shoulder. Kobra Kid wraps his arm around Fun Ghoul’s shoulders and his expression immediately turns smug.

Party shakes their head with a chuckle and sends Jet a grin. Something flutters in his chest when he sees it, and he sends one right back at them. 

They start the car and drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a couple things here:  
> 1) Jet's gross. why the h*ck would anyone put mustard on dog food.  
> 2) Show Pony is so much fun to write ;u;  
> 3) I love foreshadowing. :3c
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to know your thoughts!!
> 
> See you next week! Chapter 10's gonna be a doozy!! ;)


	10. And the Sky Opened Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The diner gets a new roof.  
> Jet Star stands alone in the middle of the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 17! I'm visiting my brother and my goblin of a niece and I'm having a blast!!
> 
> This chapter is really important to me for several reasons. I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> big thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading! and for being fantastic in general, love you ace!! <3

They get their building supplies from some scavengers who live a good ways out in the desert, and they come home and crawl through the window and they all sleep through the rest of the day.

They wake up that evening and immediately set about repairing the diner. Or, rather, Ghoul repairs the diner while the other three do menial jobs more or less related to the fixing of the diner.

_ “Shit. _ Kobra!” Ghoul calls from where he’s perched on the rafters he’s putting together. “I dropped the hammer. Can you grab it for me?”

Kobra snorts, setting aside the nails he’d been sorting through. “Yeah,” he says. “Where’d you drop it?”

“Inside.” Ghoul leans over, squinting in the darkness and peering down into what used to be their living room. “Think it fell on the sofa. Or next to it. Somewhere around there.” He looks sadly at the sofa. It’s broken in half, from when the roof fell on it. He  _ loved _ that sofa.

While he’s watching, Kobra comes into view, peering all around the sofa. “...Don’t see it,” he says, looking up at Ghoul.

Ghoul sighs. “I saw it fall! Hang on--” he hooks his legs over the rafter he’s sitting on and swings down, hanging upside down. 

“Is that really necessary?” Kobra asks, and Ghoul grins because he can hear the exasperation in his voice. 

“Nah, but it’s fun.” He tilts his head back, trying to see in what light the moon provides through the massive hole in the roof, but he doesn’t see anything that might be his hammer. He sighs. “Whatever. Can you get me the backup from the workshop?” He doesn’t like that hammer as much, it’s too top-heavy, but he really wants to finish repairing the roof as soon as possible, so it’ll have to do.

Kobra makes a noise of affirmation and exits the diner again. He uses the door, because the first thing Ghoul did once they had the materials was to fix the fucking door. Although going in and out through the window  _ was _ kinda cool. Ghoul might do it just for fun from now on.

He swings back and forth a couple of times, then pulls himself back upright, perching on the rafter again and watching Kobra’s silhouette disappear into the workshop. Ghoul looks up at the sky then and waits for him to get back.

He can’t imagine living in the city and not being able to see the stars like this. Actually, it would be nice to see the stars from the living room, too. If they could afford the glass, he’d totally make a skylight right here. 

Maybe, when they  _ can _ afford the glass, he’ll just have Jet blast another hole in the roof for him. Save him some work. He’ll just have to remember to move the sofa when that happens.

He hears footsteps in the sand, and then the quiet clacks of Kobra climbing up the ladder to him. Ghoul scoots to the end of the rafter and holds his hand out, and Kobra places the hammer into it.

“Thanks,” he says, flashing Kobra a grin. Kobra nods back at him.

“No problem. Don’t drop this one, though, or I’ll make you sleep in the booth with Jet.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you will.” Ghoul should get back to work, but, well, Kobra’s here. He needs a break, anyway. “Speakin’ of Jet. You gonna start trainin’ him soon?”

Kobra shrugs. “I dunno if ‘train’ is the best word. Gotta figure it out, though. Help him with it. ...But, yeah. Maybe tomorrow? Before it gets too hot?”

Ghoul nods. “Sure, sounds good to me. You gonna need me to help at all?”

Kobra shakes his head, leaning forward to rest his chin on his arms, folded atop the diner wall. “Gonna monitor his thoughts from here, send him out alone. Prob’ly gonna have Party go with him in spirit form, too. Keep an eye on things. You can, like, encourage him though. If he needs it. Think your story the other day helped him.”

“Mm. S’what I was goin’ for.” Ghoul’s probably the only person who really knows what Jet’s going through. Kobra comes pretty close, and Ghoul knows he’ll do his best to help, but sometimes you just need to know that someone else has gone through the same things you have. Ghoul wishes he’d had someone like that, growing up, but he’s more than willing to settle for having Kobra now.

“Oh, ‘settle,’ huh?” Kobra says, a hint of a smirk visible in the moonlight. “Not a very nice way to refer to your unending love and devotion.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes, reaching forward to flick Kobra’s nose. “Fuck off,” he says, and he knows his voice is seeped in fondness. “Actually, really, go away. I gotta get back to work, and you’re distractin’ me.”

“You love it,” Kobra says, and he leans forward to press a quick kiss to Ghoul’s lips. “I’ll leave ya to it, though. Gotta check on Party and Jet, make sure they’re workin’ and not just flirtin’.” He starts back down the ladder, and Ghoul laughs.

“Like you can’t do that from here,” he says. He climbs back up to where he was working, though. He really does need to finish this. Ah, damn. He’s almost out of this size nails.

_ ‘I’ll be back with some more,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘Want some water, too?’ _

__ _ ‘Yeah,’ _ Ghoul thinks back, still smiling.  _ ‘Thanks, Kobes.’ _

 

==========

 

After spending the evening assembling pieces of roof and door with Party and helping Fun Ghoul put everything together, Jet’s feeling pretty dead on his feet.

It’s a feeling he’s used to, from back in the city when he’d be out patrolling the streets at any hour of the day, but now, out here, it’s a much more fulfilling feeling. He feels like he’s done some good, even if it  _ was _ all just to fix his own mistake.

Still, it’s nearly 2 in the morning, which is actually just a little bit later than the rebels usually sleep, apparently, and Jet’s ready to sleep.

He’s been sleeping in one of the booths since the roof took out the sofa, and it’s...well, it’s pretty terrible, but he has a feeling sleeping on the floor would be worse, and he’s not really keen on sharing a mattress with Kobra and Ghoul or with Party, albeit for different reasons. So, cracked vinyl seat it is.

It really isn’t  _ too _ bad, though, when he spreads a blanket over the seat before he lays down. He uses one of the sofa cushions as a pillow, although it’s too big and pretty uncomfortable because of that, and honestly no matter how he arranges himself and his limbs, his legs still hang off the end of the seat. 

Okay, so every time he tries to talk it up to himself, he just ends up thinking about how terrible it is. No big deal.

It’s still a hundred times better than being in Battery City and working for BL/ind. Plus, he kind of deserves it, because he’s the one who broke the sofa, anyway. Even if he can’t say that out loud without Party or Fun Ghoul lecturing him or dropping building materials on him or whatever.

A wadded-up shirt flies from somewhere and smacks Jet in the face. 

“You can’t think that either, dumbass,” Kobra Kid calls from his bedroom doorway.

Jet grimaces, picking up the shirt and throwing it half-heartedly back at him. “Yeah, sorry,” he says. Well, at least when he was in Battery City he didn’t have to deal with telepaths eavesdropping on him all the time.

Another shirt flies out and hits him in the face. Jet just sighs, setting the shirt on the table this time. He really needs to get used to this. He’s only been here about a week, though, and it takes longer than that to develop new habits.

He hears Party come into the building. “Just a little bit more roof to do, huh?” they say. 

Jet hears them walking across the floor, and then he hears them stumble and swear. He sits up quickly, looking in their direction. “Party?” he asks. “You okay?”

“Fan-fuckin’-tastic,” Party mutters, and Jet can see them now, hopping on one leg and clutching their foot. “Just tripped on  _ Ghoul’s fuckin’ hammer!” _ they shout this last part, and there’s a loud  _ thump _ from Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid’s room. 

Party swears again, then drops their foot and hobbles toward Jet. They drop into the seat across from him. “Fuckin’  _ Ghoul _ . I oughta  _ feed _ him that goddamn hammer. D’you even  _ know _ how many times I’ve tripped over that thing?! It’s like my feet have goddamn  _ magnets _ or somethin’ in ‘em!”

Jet can’t help the little snicker that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” he says when Party shoots him an offended look. “It’s just.  _ Magnets _ . In your  _ feet _ . That’s a terrible superpower.”

Party startles then, and lets out what can only be considered a  _ honk _ of laughter.  _ “God,” _ they say. “Well, at least you could probably, like, walk up buildings or whatever, right?”

Jet shakes his head. “The magnets aren’t strong enough to hold your body up. They’re just strong enough to attract hammers and other hammer-sized metal objects, which slam into your feet with force relative to how fast you’re walking.”

_ “God!”  _ Party chokes out, and it’s obvious they’re struggling to hold back more laughter. “Oh my god, that’s  _ awful. _ I’d fucking  _ die!” _

“Good thing you don’t have, uh...magnetic...tarsals for a superpower.” Jet’s fighting back a wide smile, determined to seem as serious as possible. He doesn’t think it’s working too well, though.

“God,  _ fuck _ , magnetic  _ tarsals _ , what the fuck, Jet!” Party’s laughing so hard they can barely get the words out, leaning forward and covering their head up with their arms. “That’s so stupid!”

“Yeah.” Jet doesn’t fight the smile this time, lets it grow across his face as he watches Party shake. Their laughter strikes a chord in Jet, something he can’t really describe, isn’t sure if he wants to think about it too closely, but it’s  _ there, _ and it feels nice, and he kind of wants to hear Party laugh all the time, if he’s honest.

There’s another loud  _ thump _ from Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid’s room, followed by a muffled curse.

_ ‘Ghoul says to shut the fuck up or he’s gonna--’ _ Kobra Kid cuts himself off, and Jet can faintly hear him say, “Ghoul, I’m not saying that. It’s gross.” There’s some more muffled discussion, and then it falls silent again, and Kobra Kid continues,  _ ‘Anyway, go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.’ _

Jet sighs, stretching his arms over his head. “He’s right,” he says to Party, who’s more or less calmed down and now just seems pretty content. “I’m pretty tired, anyway. I don’t know about you, though.” He’ll be going out to practice using his power tomorrow morning--or is that technically later  _ this _ morning?--and he’s definitely nervous, but not nearly as much as he was the other day. He’ll be by himself in the middle of the desert, so the only person he’ll have to watch out for is himself.

“Mm,” Party hums, sitting up straight. “Yeah, I could sleep.” They yawn, bringing up one hand to half-cover their mouth. They’re quiet for a few moments, and Jet lays back down, rearranging his pillows and blanket as he does so.

“Good night, Party,” he says, peering over the edge of the table at them.

Party blinks at him, then shakes their head and stands up. “Right, yeah,” they say. “I’ll just go to my room. I--um. Good night, Jet.” They turn and hurry off to their own room, across from Fun Ghoul and Kobra Kid’s, and disappear inside with a slam of the door.

Jet watches them go, thoroughly confused. That was pretty...odd. Oh, well. They’re probably just tired. Jet shrugs to himself, lays back down, and falls asleep in minutes.

 

==========

 

“Idiots,” Kobra groans into Ghoul’s neck. “They’re fuckin’ idiots.”

Ghoul snorts, running his fingers through Kobra’s hair. “Yeah,” he says. “But like, tell me somethin’ I  _ don’t _ know, Kobes.”

Kobra just groans again. “Fuck,” he says, nuzzling Ghoul. “You need a shower.”

“Lies. Go back to talkin’ ‘bout how stupid your sibling and their boyfriend are.” Ghoul pauses a moment, then says, in an exact replica of Party’s voice, “I--um. Good night, Jet.”

Kobra laughs into Ghoul’s skin. “Don’t do that,” he says.

Still speaking in Party’s voice, Ghoul continues, “Oh, Jet, you’re so handsome, I wanna lick your face.” He switches to Jet’s voice. “Why, Party, I  _ also _ want you to lick my face. Please, go right ahead.” 

“Stop,” Kobra repeats. “God, I have to hear that kind stuff in Party’s head all the time, I don’t need to hear it  _ out loud- _ -” Kobra’s cut off by Ghoul licking a stripe from his neck up to the corner of his eye, and he makes a sound of exaggerated disgust. “Ghoul!” he scolds. “Fuckin’  _ gross! _ Go to sleep!”

“You love it,” Ghoul tells him, thankfully speaking in his own voice, and he shifts so he can snuggle up against Kobra’s chest.

“Whatever. Night, Ghoul.”

“Go to sleep, asshole.”

 

==========

 

“Okay,” Kobra says the next morning, while the four of them are standing outside. “Me and Party’ll stay here. Party’s gonna follow you in their spirit form, and let me know where you are, and I’ll direct you from that. Got it?”

Jet nods, shakes his head, nods again, and Party snickers because he looks like a fuckin’ bobble-head. He shoots them a look, and Party winks at them. He flushes ever so slightly, and Party is goddamn  _ delighted _ . “Uh,” Jet says. He clears his throat. “Yeah, no, I uh, I get it. Um, so, should I get going?”

Kobra nods, leaning on Ghoul, who protests by slapping half-heartedly at Kobra’s arms. “Party’s gotta lay down so they don’t break their neck or somethin’ when they pass out.” He looks pointedly at them, and Party huffs and rolls their eyes. Kobra acts like Party makes a habit out of exiting their body in dangerous circumstances. That’s only happened  _ maybe _ a dozen times! 

“Yeah, yeah,” they say. They wave at Jet as they turn to go back into the diner. “I’ll see ya in a minute, Jet. You won’t see me, though.”

“Uh. Right.”

Party goes inside and makes their way to their bedroom. Normally when they send their spirit out--or astral project, they guess is the right term for it--they just lay down on the sofa, but that’s not really an option right now, and Party doesn’t envy Jet sleeping in that shitty booth nearly enough to do so themself.

Their mattress is comfortable and covered in pillows. They’ll probably be really hot and sweaty when they come back to their body, but it’s still better than coming back on the floor or whatever else.

They lay down, close their eyes, and a moment later, they’re looking down at themself. They’re really cute when they’re sleeping, honestly. All their past datemates should consider themselves lucky to have been able to see that all the time.

Party speeds out of the building, passing through walls without a care, and comes to a stop hovering above Jet’s shoulder.  _ ‘I’m here!’ _ they think to Kobra.

Kobra, who’s still leaning on Ghoul, nods. “Party’s ready to go,” he says. 

Jet looks around, eyes roving wildly like he honestly thinks he’ll be able to see Party’s fuckin’  _ soul _ just hanging around. They laugh as they watch him.

“You can’t see them,” Kobra says, shaking his head, and Jet’s gaze locks with his. He mumbles something, no doubt embarrassed, and then Kobra continues, “You can’t hear them, either, but they can hear you. So remember: if you wanna say somethin’ to me, think it. If you wanna say somethin’ to Party, say it out loud. Got it?”

Jet nods. “Uh...so they can hear me right now?”

_ ‘Dude,’ _ Party thinks, because they’re literally  _ right next _ to him, of course they can fuckin’ hear him.

“Obviously.” Kobra finally releases his hold on Ghoul. “Now, get goin’. I’m gonna check on Party’s body and make sure they didn’t fall face-first into a pillow or somethin’.” He presses a kiss to the top of Ghoul’s head, wrinkles his nose and mutters something to him before heading into the diner. 

Ghoul rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna finish fixin’ the roof,” he says. “You guys have fun blowin’ stuff up.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just starts climbing up the ladder still leaning against the side of the building.

Party turns all their attention to Jet, who’s looking around again. “Uh,” he says, “Um, okay. Party? I’m gonna...go. Now. ...Okay.” He starts off into the desert, in the opposite direction of the rebel stronghold, and Party chuckles to themself and follows him.

_ ‘How far out you want him to go, Kobes?’ _ they think to their brother.

_ ‘Few miles,’ _ comes the reply.  _ ‘Make sure there’s no structures or anythin’ too close. Don’t know what his range is, but as long as there’s nothin’ in his line of sight, should be fine.’ _

__ _ ‘Got it. I’ll let ya know when you’ve gotta send him directions.’ _

Kobra sends them an image of himself giving a thumbs-up, and Party snorts to themself.

Jet still seems a little uncertain, but he’s walking in the right direction, so Party just keeps following him.

 

==========

 

It’s really fucking weird to know your friend can hear and see you but you can’t hear or see them at all. Jet feels like he’s completely alone, but he knows he isn’t. In a way, it’s almost like the endless surveillance of Battery City, which would terrify him if he didn’t know it was  _ Party _ here.

Still. Is he supposed to talk? It’s weird. Weirder than the city, because in the city you’re not expected to hold a conversation with the cameras trained on you. 

He sighs, forcing himself to just watch where he’s going, and not to look around for someone he knows he can’t see. He wonders what it feels like to leave your body behind. He’ll have to ask Party when he gets back home.

He wonders if Party feels as alone as Jet does, or if they just feel ignored. He wonders which feels worse.

_ ‘You’re going too far west,’  _ Kobra Kid tells him. 

Jet pauses, startled, and corrects his direction.  _ ‘Thanks,’ _ he thinks back at him. Party must have told their brother to pass the information on to him. It’s a good way to make sure he gets where he needs to be, where it’ll be safest to practice his power, but it brings him back to his earlier thoughts: this is fucking weird. Party can see and hear him, Kobra Kid can hear his thoughts, and it would absolutely be worse than living in the city if it was anyone else but the pair of them.

At least Fun Ghoul’s only power is sound-based.

He continues on for a while longer. It’s hard for him to keep track of time out here, but the sun still moves at a constant pace, so he can at least tell that time  _ is _ passing. Also, the temperature is rising, which seems to be a good indication that the day is growing older.

“It’s hot,” he says to no one in particular. He wipes some sweat off his forehead, wrinkling his nose.

_ ‘Party says they don’t envy your corporeal form right now,’ _ Kobra tells him.

Jet frowns. “You can’t feel the heat when you’re in your spirit form?” It makes sense, but Jet’s still trying to wrap his head around all of this. You’d think that for someone who spent the last ten years around people with superpowers, he’d be used to this kind of thing, but then again no one in Battery City has powers like this. He’s allowed to be confused.

_ ‘They can’t feel anything. They can just hear and see things.’ _

“Huh,” Jet says, in lieu of any actual response.

He keeps walking.

He’s getting tired now, feet slipping in the sand, and he nearly loses his balance once or twice. He’s still not used to the desert. In Battery City, the roads are all flat and paved. His boots just weren’t made for this environment.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking, focusing on placing his feet just so, when Kobra Kid comes into his head again.  _ ‘You can stop here,’ _ he says. His voice seems somehow fainter than it had earlier, and Jet wonders if it’s because he’s gone almost the the edge of Kobra Kid’s range of...thought?  _ ‘Party says there’s no buildings or anything like that in sight, so it should be safe enough to use your powers here.’ _

__ _ ‘Okay,’ _ he thinks back to Kobra Kid.  _ ‘Thanks.’ _ Jet looks around, surprised to see that he’s even more alone than before. He wipes some more sweat from his forehead. “Party?” he says. “Are you doing okay?” He doesn’t know how long they can be out of their body, or how far is too far. If he’s almost at the edge of Kobra Kid’s range, then maybe Party’s at the edge of theirs?

_ ‘Party says they’re fine. You look like shit, though.’ _

This startles a laugh from Jet, who grins at nothing. “Kinda feel like shit,” he says. He leans forward, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. “You guys are tougher than any BL/ind agent, just living out here.”

_ ‘Ain’t  _ that _ the truth. Anyway, Party doesn’t have a range, and if they have a time limit, it’s prob’ly just as long as their body’s alive. So don’t worry about them.’ _

Jet nods. He straightens up, stretching his arms and cracking his back. It feels wonderful, and for just a second, he doesn’t even mind the sun beating mercilessly down on him.

_ ‘Party says to pull your shirt down.’ _

Jet looks down and sees that his shirt, which was a little short anyway, has risen up a bit with his stretching and exposed a slim strip of his stomach. He hurriedly tugs it down, willing himself not to blush and probably failing. “Sorry,” he says to the air.

There’s a few moments of nothing, and then Kobra Kid comes back.  _ ‘Anyway, go ahead and use your power now. Remember, you need adrenaline to trigger it.’ _

__ _ ‘I don’t know if I can just...will myself to create adrenaline,’ _ Jet thinks to him. He’s not exactly in danger right now, and though he’s a bit worried about what his power will do, he isn’t anxious enough to use that, either.

_ ‘I can trigger an adrenaline spike,’ _ Kobra Kid tells him.  _ ‘Be prepared.’ _

Jet nods, even though he knows Kobra Kid can’t see him, and he takes a deep breath. This time, he’ll use his power and nothing bad will happen. No buildings will be destroyed, no one will be killed or hurt. Party’s here, but they can’t be touched in this state, so they’re safe. Everyone will be safe.

Suddenly, Jet’s entire body is on high alert. His heart’s beating faster, and he can keenly feel each pulse. His vision feels sharper, and he’s jittery. He isn’t afraid, but his anxiety’s increasing. He swallows; this is just the adrenaline working on his body, he knows, but he has to fight back the nerves and force himself to think.

_ ‘I need something to happen.’ _

Nothing happens. Jet swears. He feels like he’s going to shake out of his own skin. He tries again.

_ ‘I hate this feeling, something needs to happen so I don’t have to feel like this anymore!’ _

Kobra Kid’s voice comes to him again.  _ ‘I felt your power trigger,’  _ he says.  _ ‘What’s happening?’ _

As soon as he finishes his thought, Jet feels the adrenaline leave his body, and he slumps, feeling drained.  _ ‘I don’t know,’ _ he thinks to Kobra Kid.  _ ‘I don’t--’ _

He cuts himself off, though, because he hears a sudden sharp sound, and then a high-pitched whistling, and he can’t quite tell where it’s coming from. The adrenaline is back, and this time he doesn’t think it’s Kobra Kid’s doing.

Jet Star spins around, looking all over, but he can’t tell where the sound is coming from, if he should be running, or fighting, or  _ what. _

_ ‘DUCK!’ _

It’s more like a command than a thought, and Jet finds himself sprawling face-down in the sand, eyes clenched shut and hands covering his head. There’s a feeling of air moving, the whistling growing louder as  _ something _ passes overhead, and then there’s an explosion behind him. He’s pelted with sand, and some bigger objects that might be large pebbles or small rocks, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might jump out of his chest.

Jet keeps as still as possible.He isn’t going to move until he’s sure it’s safe to do so.

_ ‘Holy shit,’ _ says Kobra Kid in his mind.  _ ‘Jet. Get up, it’s safe. Fuck. You need to see this.’ _

Jet’s still shaking as he stands up. What the hell did his power  _ do? _ He turns around to face the fucking crater that definitely wasn’t there a minute ago. He blinks at it, uncomprehending. There’s smoke or something rising out of the center of it. What the hell?

“What the hell?” he says out loud, because he feels like it carries more weight that way.

_ ‘Dude. Go look.’ _

He creeps closer to the crater and peers in. There’s a big, blackened rock in there, several feet down, and the smoke is just  _ pouring _ off of it, thick and acrid. He stares at it. 

“That’s,” he starts, and then stops. He shakes his head, straightening up and backing away from the crater. “That’s a meteorite,” he says. “I--my power called down a fucking  _ meteorite!” _

_ ‘Sure fuckin’ did,’ _ Kobra Kid thinks to him.  _ ‘Now, I want you to do that again.’ _

_ ‘Do--do  _ what _ again?!’  _

_ ‘Call down another one. Do everything you did before, and try to call down a second meteorite.’ _

__ _ ‘You--you want me to call down another one. I could have died!’ _

__ _ ‘You didn’t. You won’t. Party and me’re both lookin’ after you. Try it, Jet.’ _

Jet shakes his head, but he does it. He’s still feeling shaky, he still feels that terrible rush of adrenaline in his veins, so he doesn’t wait for Kobra Kid to mess with his brain. He just thinks, remembering the phrase he used earlier.

_ ‘I hate this feeling! Something needs to happen so I don’t have to feel like this anymore.’ _

__ As soon as he finishes the thought, he looks up at the sky, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of another meteorite.

The desert around him grows dark suddenly, and Jet spins around toward the sun. Is this space rock going to be so huge it’s actually blocking out the sun?! What’s he supposed to do in that case?!

But instead of a rock hurtling toward him, he sees a cloud, dark and menacing, covering the sun. He blinks. That can’t be his doing, can it? But there were no clouds earlier.  _ Were _ there? He can’t remember.

_ ‘No, that’s gotta be you,’ _ Kobra Kid tells him.  _ ‘It was clear just a minute ago. There’s a storm rollin’ in, and movin’ fast. Fuck--hang on, me and Ghoul’re comin’ with the car to pick you up. Start walkin’ in this direction! Think it’s gonna flood.’ _

“Holy fuck!” Jet yells, because he really can’t think of any other reaction to calling down a fucking meteorite and then starting a goddamn flood or whatever in the span of, like, less than five minutes. He starts sprinting, but he isn’t sure if he’s going in the right direction or not, because everything looked the same in all directions earlier and now everything just looks  _ wrong _ , a smoking crater behind him and a darkening sky above him.

A drop of water hits the back of his neck, and he runs faster, like if he quickens his pace he can outrun the  _ fucking weather. _

No one comes into his head to tell him he’s going in the wrong direction, so he just keeps running.

There’s a  _ crack _ of thunder overhead, a low rumble that speeds across the sky, through the clouds, and he realizes that there’s probably going to be lightning, too, and like, what a fucking way to go, right? Struck by lightning in the middle of the desert, alone, his body never found because it got washed away in a fucking flood.

In the  _ desert. _

And, shit, there must be other people out here, right? Are they going to get to shelter quick enough? What if someone dies? He came out to the middle of nowhere to keep people safe from his power, because Kobra Kid thought his power must have a range that would keep everyone safe from him, but apparently that doesn’t fucking matter at all because he caused a huge, angry thunderstorm and called a fucking  _ rock _ down from  _ space _ .

And,  _ god, _ if someone dies, it’s  _ his _ fault, because he couldn’t control his power, it’s  _ his _ fault,  _ his fault-- _

Jet sucks in a breath, closes his eyes without pausing in his running, and focuses on keeping himself calm. It isn’t his fault. He’s trying to learn how to use his power without hurting anyone. He never asked for this power, but he’s  _ trying _ to learn how to control it. If someone...if someone  _ does _ die, then that’s horrible, and he’ll regret it, but he can’t hold himself responsible because  _ it isn’t his fault. _

He opens his eyes just as the rain starts pouring down in sheets around him.

Everything’s gray and murky now, the sand quickly turning to mud and sucking at his shoes. He can’t see more than a few feet in front of his face. He keeps running, in the direction he thinks home is, and his breath comes in fast, shallow gasps, but he can’t stop because he has to get to shelter before it gets any worse out here.

There’s a flash, and then another  _ crack _ of thunder. He pushes on. He wonders if lightning striking the sand out here would make glass.

He wonders if lightning would pass through Party’s spirit as harmlessly as everything else, or if the amount of energy would hurt them. Destroy them.

He hopes no one will ever find out.

There’s light up ahead, and this time it isn’t lightning. The light’s too low to the ground, and shaped differently, and it’s weaker than the lightning but still shining through the curtain of rain all around him.

It’s moving toward him, which can mean only one thing: the light is the headlights of a car, and soon he’ll be safe and out of the storm.

He pushes on. He feels like he’s going to collapse, but he’d much prefer to do so in the backseat of a car than out here in the mud and the rain.

_ ‘Jet! Get in!’ _

It’s the first time Kobra’s spoken to him since the storm started, and Jet’s never been so glad to feel him in his mind. 

Jet falls against the door of the car as it comes to a sudden stop in front of him, and his fingers scrabble at the handle for a long moment before he manages to get it open. He dives into the car, pulling the door shut behind him, and he just lays there a minute, trying to catch his breath. 

“Fuck,” says Ghoul, and Jet turns his head just enough to catch a glimpse of his dark hair. “You okay, man? You’re soaked.”

Jet moves his head in what he hopes can pass for a nod. He’s still breathing hard, and he doesn’t think he can speak just yet. The windows on the driver’s side of the car are still broken, and rain’s still coming in and hitting Jet, but it’s nothing as bad as being out in the storm was.

Kobra’s driving again, and Jet can’t see out the windows, but he can feel the car moving, turning and speeding back the way they’d come from.

There’s another  _ crack _ of thunder, but it’s muffled by the car and the sounds the engine makes. Jet closes his eyes, lets himself relax.

Once he can breathe normally, he sits up, leaning against the back seat. “Are--are you guys alright?” he asks. 

Kobra nods, not taking his eyes off the road. “Everything’s okay,” he says. “Ghoul got the roof all finished before the storm started, so we don’t have to worry ‘bout that.”

“And now that we got you,” Ghoul says, “we don’t hafta worry about  _ anythin’! _ Man...it’s been so long since we had rain like this.” He’s looking out the window in what Jet can only classify as  _ amazement. _ “When we get back, I’m gonna fill all the barrels ‘n’ whatever else’ll hold water. We won’t hafta buy it for a while.”

Jet blinks. He hadn’t even considered that this rain might be a good thing, and not just...horrible.

“See?” says Kobra. He glances at the rearview mirror and makes brief eye contact with Jet. “Good things can come with the bad. It doesn’t have to all be destruction.”

“I...never thought of it that way.” Jet looks out the window too, raindrops splattering against his face. He still can’t see far, but the rain doesn’t look as terrifying as it had earlier.

Other people will have the same idea as Ghoul. They’ll fill their barrels and their cups and their jars, and they’ll survive that much longer without going thirsty.

He allows himself a little smile at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jet's healing. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to leave a comment below. Each one honestly means so much to me!
> 
> See you next week!! ;)


	11. I'll Keep You Safe Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party watches over Jet.  
> Plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 18! :)
> 
> for best results, I'd suggest rereading chapter 10, or at least the part featuring jet in the desert. it's not necessary, of course!
> 
> big thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading! and for drawing some really nice art of jet from last chapter!! check the end notes for a link!!
> 
> enjoy!! :)

****

Party doesn’t leave Jet’s side the whole time. From the moment he leaves the diner, Party keeps themself right beside him, relaying any important information to Kobra. It feels almost like when they spy on the BL/ind superheroes who come out here, except it’s completely different.

Jet sweats a lot. It’s probably because he’s still used to the carefully controlled climate of Battery City, but maybe it’s also because of that mass of dark curls on his head. The hair’s just starting to grow out from being clipped just a couple of inches from the scalp, and Party really hopes he lets it grow out, because it looks like it would be really nice to run their fingers through once it’s a little longer.

They send a thought back to Kobra once they’ve reached a suitably empty patch of desert. Nothing but scrub brush and sand as far as the eye can see. A couple scraggly trees here and there. It’s perfect. Party wonders what the hell Jet’s power can even  _ do _ out here. Set fire to the scrub, maybe? Nothing too horrific, they’re sure.

“Party?” Jet calls quietly, and their attention snaps back to him. His eyes aren’t roving around looking for them this time. “Are you doing okay?”

Party pushes their spirit forward so that they’re looking into Jet’s face.  _ He’s _ worried about  _ them _ when he looks like fuckin’  _ death warmed over? _ What the hell?  _ ‘Tell him I’m fine,’ _ they think to their brother.

There’s a short pause, and then Jet laughs suddenly, grinning like an  _ idiot. _ “Kinda feel like shit,” he says. He leans forward, and Party has to pull back to avoid having Jet’s face collide with their own. Not that it would hurt. Or feel like anything, actually. But it would still be weird. “You guys are tougher than any BL/ind agent, just living out here,” he continues.

There’s another pause, presumably while he and Kobra converse, and then Jet’s stretching his arms over his head with an absolutely  _ delighted _ look on his face, and Party’s gaze flicks to the fucking  _ delicious _ strip of skin he’s suddenly presented them with. Jet’s stomach looks trim, with just a little bit of pudge, and there’s a trail of dark hair below his belly button and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and Party barely has a moment to think of how utterly goddamn  _ tantalizing _ that is before Jet’s frantically tugging his shirt down and muttering a little “sorry.”

_ ‘What the fuck did you say to him, Kobra?!’ _ Party demands, because this is clearly their brother’s fault.

_ ‘Please,’ _ Kobra sends back, and there’s an edge of desperation to his thoughts,  _ ‘Please, Party,  _ please  _ do  _ not _ think x-rated things about Jet Star while I’m forced to listen. I’m fucking begging you.’ _

__ _ ‘I wasn’t thinkin’ anythin’  _ x-rated, _ you little pervert! He’s got a nice tummy is all! Fuck you, just get to work!’ _

Party flies upward while Jet and Kobra work together. It’s not their fault Jet’s tummy is cute and distracting. It’s totally Kobra’s fault they didn’t get to check him out anymore, though. They wonder if Jet would take his shirt off if Party asked later. That would be pretty fuckin’ great.

_ ‘Pay attention, Party! He’s about to use his power, and I need to know what’s happenin’!’ _

Party sighs inaudibly.  _ ‘Yeah, yeah, okay. But only ‘cause I wanna see Jet in action again.’ _

__ _ ‘Just watch out for anythin’ weird.’ _

__ It’s pure luck that Party happens to be facing in the correct direction when a huge fuckin’  _ ball of fire _ starts hurtling through the sky at them.

Their first instinct is to move out of the way, which is stupid because they can’t be hurt by physical objects in this form. Their second instinct is to push Jet out of the way, because that thing looks like it’s heading right for him, and of course he’s looking everywhere  _ except in the direction of the fucking fireball, _ but when they dive at him they just pass right through, because they’re a fucking  _ ghost _ right now, and  _ fuck, _ Jet’s gonna  _ die _ , what do they  _ do?! _

And then Jet’s flinging himself to the ground, and there’s a goddamn  _ meteorite _ passing through them, and they can’t feel anything but it  _ feels _ like they should feel it, feels like it should  _ burn _ , and then there’s an explosion and sand and rocks are raining down around them.

They push themself to Jet’s side as soon as the meteorite’s no longer a threat. He’s still laying face-down in the sand, but he’s breathing, and Party can’t see any cuts or anything. He’s okay.  _ He’s okay. _

__ _ ‘Party, is everythin’ okay? Is it safe?!’  _

__ _ ‘Shit--yeah, Kobes, it’s all good. Jet just called down a fuckin’ meteor. He’s all good, though.’ _

_ ‘Are you serious?’ _ Kobra’s incredulous, Party can tell.

_ ‘Yeah,’ _ they say.  _ ‘Fuckin’ amazin’, right?’ _

They don’t get an answer, and Party hangs back while Jet gets unsteadily to his feet and inspects the crater. Jet’s power brought a fucking rock down from space. What the hell does this  _ mean? _ Does his power even  _ have _ a range? Is being out in the middle of nowhere even a deterrent at all?

They hope Jet doesn’t think about that. He’ll never learn to control his power if he’s too scared to even use it.

It’s raining. When did it start raining? When did it get  _ dark? _

_ ‘Party! Follow Jet, make sure he doesn’t run off in the wrong direction! We’re comin’ out to get him!’ _

__ _ ‘What’s goin’ on?!’ _ Party flies after Jet, who’s running in the direction of the diner.  _ ‘Fuck, wait, did  _ he _ make it rain?!’ _

__ _ ‘Yeah, Party. Tried to get him to call down another meteorite, but he started a storm instead. Just watch him ‘til we get there!’ _

As if Party would leave him. As if they  _ could _ leave him, when he’s probably terrified, terrified of the rain, of his power, of  _ himself. _ Fuck, they can’t even talk to him, reassure him. Kobra’s gonna be too busy to translate, and Party’s body is miles away, useless to them both.

The rain’s coming down harder, sheets of water pouring down from the dark clouds. They stick close to Jet, unwilling to lose him in the storm. There’s a flash of lightning, and if Party had their body they know they’d feel a sharp pain in their stomach, because that was really goddamn close to them, and if Jet gets hit--if Jet gets  _ hit-- _

But before they can worry too much, Kobra’s here with the car, and Jet’s throwing himself into the back seat.

Party follows him, hovering over him while Kobra turns the car around. He’s clearly exhausted, his whole body shaking with cold and fatigue, laying across the seat on his stomach. They wish there was something they could do to help, wish they could know how he’s feeling.

Wish they could  _ talk  _ to him. Because, fuck, there’s  _ no _ way he’s taking this well. He’s blaming himself again. Because that’s what Jet  _ does _ , apparently. Just like Ghoul did, in the beginning, before Kobra helped him.

Party wants to help Jet, but they don’t have the ability to direct disasters or to read and address the bad thoughts, not like their brother does.

Jet sits up suddenly, his head passing through Party’s torso in a way that, although they can’t feel it, can never feel anything in this form, somehow makes something in Party’s stomach flutter.

They move over to sit, sort of, on the seat beside him.

“Are you guys alright?” he asks, and he’s still out of breath, but that’s okay because _he’s_ _okay_.

And Party sits quietly through the rest of the conversation, just watching Jet’s expressions. When Jet smiles out at the rain, that fluttery feeling comes back, and Party wants to hug him, tell him that he’s wonderful, that his power isn’t terrible, could  _ never _ be terrible when it’s  _ Jet’s power, _ but they can’t do that, not while they’re in this form.

So they place their spirit-hand on top of Jet’s and pretend that their fingers don’t pass through his, and they continue to watch him until they get home.

They’re so fucked.

 

==========

 

It doesn’t take much longer for them to arrive, despite the mud clinging to their tires and the water steadily rising around them. 

When Kobra pulls up to the diner, parking the car beneath the carport they’d built a few years ago for scenarios like this one, he watches Ghoul swing the door open and bolt for the doors, no doubt to collect whatever containers he can find to get as much rainwater as he can. 

Kobra gets out of the car, moving toward the edge of the shelter provided by the carport and peering out into the rain. They haven’t had a downpour like this in a couple of years. Sure, it’s dangerous for anyone caught out in it, but the people who live out here are resilient. Kobra’s confident everyone will make it out unscathed.

There’s water rushing around his feet, not yet high enough to bother him, but still present enough that he’s seriously considering taking his shoes off, just to feel the water swirling around him.

He hears the door of the car open and knows that Jet’s finally climbing out. He hears his footsteps, little  _ splishes _ as he walks up and stands beside Kobra.

“I didn’t know my power could do something as big as this,” he says, and Kobra’s being careful to keep out of his thoughts, just wants to deal with his  _ own _ thoughts for a while, but he doesn’t need his power to tell that Jet’s feeling...sort of amazed, honestly.

Kobra hums out a response, and they’re silent for a few moments, just watching the rain pour down.

The diner door opens again, and there’s a series of splashes as Party runs toward them. Kobra doesn’t turn to them. They’re not here for him. Not this time.

He isn’t watching, he isn’t  _ feeling, _ but he hears the impact as Party slams into Jet and Jet stumbles backward. He knows his sibling is holding Jet tight, arms wrapped around his torso.

“You’re okay,” they breathe. “ _ Fuck, _ Jet. You  _ made _ it.” 

He hears Jet let out a shaky breath, hears the slide of skin against fabric, knows Jet’s holding Party too, tentative and unsure. “Yeah,” Jet says. “I’m okay. I--are you okay?”

Party snorts. “I wasn’t the one runnin’ through a flash flood. Or dodgin’ space rocks. ...Actually, that fucker did kinda pass through my ghost. Real goddamn disconcertin’, but I’m good.”

“Oh. Well, I’m...glad you’re okay.” Kobra hears the slide again, and then several small splashes, and knows they’ve pulled apart. “That everyone’s okay.”

“Yeah. ...It isn’t your fault, you know.”

There’s a pause, and then Jet says, quietly, “I know. It’s okay. ...I know.”

The door to the diner opens again, and Ghoul scurries out, several containers clutched in his arms. “Hey, assholes!” he calls. “Come help me set all this stuff out before the rain stops!”

Kobra smirks a little, heading out into the rain and leaving his sibling alone with Jet. He’s not intune with either of their thoughts now, so he’s not going to pay attention to either of them. He’s just going to focus on himself, and on Ghoul.

Ghoul’s setting out some jars and things on the workbench outside. He’s soaking wet--and Kobra himself is rapidly catching up to him in that regard--and the jars are filling fast. “I’m gonna grab the barrels,” he says, and Ghoul nods to him.

Kobra puts his hand on Ghoul’s cheek for just a moment, feeling the warmth there, and then he goes and gets the barrels to fill.

At least Ghoul’s finally getting a shower.

 

==========

 

The rain storm lasts for the rest of the day, but Jet spends most of that time sleeping, so he only sees the aftermath of the flood when he wakes up again that evening.

Party’s already awake when Jet sits up, rubbing his eyes, limbs still feeling heavy with exhaustion. They’re sitting in the seat across the table from him, and they grin when he meets their eye.

“Mornin’, sleepin’ beauty,” they say, and push a cup of something fragrant and steaming toward him.

“It’s nighttime,” Jet says confusedly, but takes the cup. He blinks, eyes bleary from sleep. “...What’s this?”

“Lord’s drink,” they say, and take a sip out of their own cup. “Well, sorta. S’posed to be made with milk and honey, but milk’s pretty hard to get and fuckin’  _ expensive, _ so it’s just hot water ‘n’ honey. Still good, though. Try it.”

It does actually sound pretty good. He’s still feeling chilled from being out in the rain for so long, and he hasn’t had something warm to drink since he’d left the city--not that he’d needed anything warm, really. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip. And it  _ is  _ good, though honestly the taste isn’t that great. Slightly sweet, but mostly it just tastes like hot water. It’s calming, though, and comforting, and he sends a smile across the table to Party.

Party doesn’t seem to see it, though, because they’ve turned to look out the window, their cup clenched tight in their hand. Jet watches them for a minute or two, sipping his drink. It’s quiet, and he wonders where Kobra and Ghoul are, wonders when the rain stopped. Thinks about Party, wrapping their arms around him and telling him they’re okay, they’re glad  _ he’s _ okay. Thinks about the feeling of Party’s hand in his own as they led him inside and persuaded him to dry off and go to sleep. 

He thinks he might like to hold Party’s hand again soon, hold their hand a lot, and he finds that it’s not that strange of a thought.

It’s only once his drink is gone and he’s set the cup aside with a  _ clink _ that Party faces him again. “So,” they say, drumming their fingers against the side of their cup. “Are you still up for the party tonight?”

Jet blinks. He frowns. Blinks again. “Uh,” he says. “Party?” Because what the hell are they talking about? What party? Or are they referring to themself in the third person, for some reason? In which case, Jet asks again, more emphatically,  _ what the hell are they talking about? _

Party snickers, tilting their head back and draining the rest of their drink. They set the cup aside and raise an eyebrow at him. “The party?” they say, as though repeating themself will somehow jar Jet’s memory. “Y’know, Show Pony’s party? That they invited us to yesterday?”

“Oh!” In all of today’s commotion, Jet had honestly forgotten all about meeting Show Pony. “Right, that. Uh. Is it still happening? Um, because, you know.” He waves his hand at the window and peers outside. There’s still just enough light for him to see the more immediate landscape, and there’s no standing water, but the ground still looks pretty mucky. He doesn’t know what the rest of the desert looks like, though, or where Show Pony and this party are located.

“Implyin’ that Pony would  _ ever _ let anythin’ stop ‘em from throwin’ a party? Nah, unless they’re dust, we can assume the party’s still on.”

“Oh. Uh, okay.” Jet thinks for a minute. Does he  _ want _ to go to this party? He’s still pretty tired, and it’s not like he was ever a big party-goer back in the city, anyway. But he has a feeling that the parties out here in the desert are as different from those in the city as everything else is, and anyway, he lives here now. He should get to know the neighbors, so to speak, right?

He finds himself nodding before he can even make a conscious decision to do so. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure, I’m up for it.”

Party beams at him, their whole face lighting up. “Hell  _ yeah!” _ they say. “Fuck, we gotta make you  _ shiny!” _

He stares at Party. “...Shiny?” he asks tentatively.

Party’s smile only widens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a shorter one, sorry about that! on the bright side...look who's finally realizing their feelings for each other... :')
> 
> thank you so much for reading! feel free to leave a comment below if you enjoyed it! :D
> 
> ART! https://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/184540412446/asexualrinmatsuoka-manits-been-so-long-since i love how ace drew jet in this, and the scenery!! i wanna say "it's exactly how i pictured it," but it's actually better than i imagined it, so!! and there's also some doodles with it...some funkobra rooftop kisses, some jetpoison giggling over stupid jokes. a poor soul with magnetic tarsals. the works. ;)
> 
> NEXT WEEK: It's party time, babey!!


	12. We Came to Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Party dance together.  
> Kobra regrets his ability to read minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO it is Week 19. 
> 
> huge thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading! and drawing a comic for a certain scene from last chapter, which you can find a link to in the end notes!
> 
> enjoy this chapter ;)
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: alcohol, some discussion of sex.

With how expensive and hard to find even the bare necessities seem to be out here, Jet isn’t really expecting body glitter to be as readily available as it seems to be, but here he is, silver glitter on his cheekbones and around his eyes, in his hair and smeared on his collarbones.

It’s a really weird feeling, and he keeps scrunching up his nose and pursing his lips because it  _ itches, _ but Party refuses to let him scratch at it.

Party’s got glitter all over, too, on their cheeks and their eyelids and their neck, in their hair. There’s a dusting of silver on their shoulders, too. They glimmer in the pale light of the moon.

Kobra and Ghoul both managed to avoid Party’s glitter-brush somehow, but Kobra’s got black lipstick on his lips and his eyelashes are darker than usual, so Jet figures the siblings just have different tastes in party attire or something.

They take the car back out across the muddy desert, and Jet can see the house long before they actually get there.

Show Pony’s house isn’t very big, but it’s... _ ostentatious. _ There are lights all over the place, neon signs clearly stolen from storefronts, strobe lights in several bright colors which must be inside the house, but they spill out through the windows and open doors. Fairy lights, strung up and stretching between windowsills and looped around cacti and scrub brush.

“You know BL/ind can see this place...probably from the city, right?” Jet asks, because he feels like that’s important information, even if he isn’t sure if it’s true or not.

Ghoul laughs from the back seat. “Didn’t one of Pony’s parties get attacked by BL/ind once? Kobes, that happened, right?”

“Mm. Yeah. Couple years ago?” Kobra shrugs. “We got rid of ‘em pretty easy. Didn’t even send any of their superheroes out that time. Didn’t even interrupt the party at all.” 

Party snorts. “Yeah. There was a Drac tied to a chair for like, at least a couple hours. Was it Hot Chimp who hung the garland all over ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Kobra says. “And then Cherri got in a fight with her about what to do with ‘em. Who won, anyway?”

“Chimp did,” says Ghoul, climbing over Kobra’s lap to get closer to Party in the

driver’s seat. “She set ‘em out in the middle of the desert with a trackin’ device for BL/ind to pick up. Carved, like, ‘fuck you’ into their mask or somethin’.”

“Oh,” says Jet. “I remember that.” The BL/ind execs had been pretty mad about that mission. They had broadcast some shit about “rescuing” an injured Draculoid from the rebels’ clutches on the news, too. “I was supposed to go on that mission, I think.”

Party glances over at him just as they pull up to the brightly-lit house. Jet can already hear music pouring out, loud bass thrumming through the air. He’s never heard music like this before, so different from the gentle melodies BL/ind plays on the radio. He’s so distracted by the sound of it that he’s almost startled when Party asks, “Really? Why didn’t you?”

Jet shrugs, glancing out the window again and focusing on his thoughts rather than the music. “Was put into re-education right before, I think. They decided to go without me.” Which Jet was glad for. Even if that was one of the worst re-educations he’d gone through, at least it had kept him from coming out here and fighting the rebels. FIghting Kobra and Ghoul. They’d have probably killed him, too.

“Probably,” Kobra says, opening his door as Party parks the car. “Good thing for everyone we don’t have to worry ‘bout that.”

Jet turns, trying to catch his eye. “Everyone?” he asks with a frown. 

Kobra holds a hand up to cover his eyes. “Dude,” he says. “Your face in these lights is fuckin’ murder on the eyeballs.” He climbs out of the car, tugging Ghoul with him. “Anyway, we’re gonna go...dance or somethin’. Later.”

“Hell yeah!” Ghoul bounds ahead of Kobra, their hands still joined, and pulls him through the crowd of party-goers into the house.

Jet watches them go, disappearing far too quickly, and then he looks over his shoulder at Party, who’s opened their own door. They’re watching him intently, and Jet averts his gaze again.

“Hey,” Party says, softly but loud enough to be heard over the music and laughter, “You doin’ okay still? Ready to go in?”

Jet nods. “Yeah. Um. ...Never been to something like this before, though.” He looks out at all the people. He hasn’t seen this many people in one place since he came out here, and he wonders if this is all the rebels of this particular stronghold. They seem so carefree, talking and laughing and dancing out here. Do they care that BL/ind would kill or capture them all simply for daring to enjoy themselves? Actually, that’s probably why they left Battery City in the first place. Or did they? Maybe all these people have lived out here their entire lives. Do they even know how dangerous BL/ind really is, then? Or do they just exist in the bubble of protection Ghoul and Kobra provide them?

He shakes his head and gets out of the car. Party’s already standing beside him when he gets to his feet, and he blinks, startled. How long had he been staring out at the crowd? 

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Party asks, and they lay a hand on his arm.

He shivers a bit at the touch, but doesn’t try to remove their hand. “Yeah,” he says. He hesitates, then continues, “I just...things are so different here. The people, the music…. And everyone here...they act like everything’s safe.”

Party chuckles, and it sounds only half-amused. “No they don’t,” they say. “Everyone here knows they’re not safe. They know somethin’ could happen to ‘em at any second, Jet. That’s why they’re here. They gotta live while they can, ya know?”

Jet frowns. Live while they can. He looks over the crowd again, people clutching cups and bottles and dancing in groups of two or three, and they don’t even seem to mind the mud and puddles all around them. They’re talking and laughing, or singing at the tops of their lungs, light spilling out over them and making them shine, even if they aren’t covered in glitter like he and Party are.

He looks at Party again, who’s watching him expectantly, head tilted to the side just slightly. The lights make Party look sharper and softer all at once, glitter accentuating their features.

_ Live while they can. _

Jet nods, tearing his eyes away from Party. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I get it.” He pauses again, meets Party’s eye. “So,” he says. “What do we do, now that we’re here?”

Party beams. “We go have fun,” they say. They take his hand and pull him towards the house, through the crowd. Jet bumps shoulders with several people, muttering apologies each time, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps following Party.

The inside is brighter and more crowded than even the outside had been, which Jet isn’t too surprised about, but it still makes him sort of nervous. Not that he was feeling particularly calm before, either. The strobe lights are harder to ignore--impossible, in fact, because it seems like every light in here is strobing, and the music thrums through his chest. He can almost make out the lyrics now, and he’s surprised--most music in Battery Ciity is simple instrumentals, calming, but this--it’s loud, it’s fast, and the singer sounds so  _ angry _ . He isn’t quite sure, yet, if he likes it or not. 

He doesn’t let go of Party’s hand, afraid to lose them in the crowd.

“Come on!” Party shouts, and Jet can barely hear them over all the noise. He wishes they could talk mind-to-mind, like with Kobra. “Let’s get us some cordial, huh? Start the night off right!”

Jet has no idea what cordial is, and he doesn’t ask. Party tugs him past a couple of girls kissing frantically underneath a speaker and over to a table, on which an array of food and drink is spread. Jet stares; there isn’t a single can of dog food to be seen, and there are drinks here which clearly aren’t just water, and he thinks that might be an actual, homemade apple pie. What the hell?

He isn’t sure how long he’s ogling the food before Party’s nudging him, handing him a glass jar filled with some dark liquid. He takes it, peering inside. He looks at Party, who’s watching him with a wide grin, their own drink in hand. “What is this?” he asks. 

“Cordial, baby!” Party takes a long drink from the jar in their own hand, their eyes falling closed. “Mm...must be from Tick’s stock. She’s got a way with this kinda stuff, y’know?”

Jet still has no idea what cordial is, but he nods and takes a drink. And almost coughs it back up, because it kind of  _ burns _ on the way down. “What--” his voice comes out hoarse, and he coughs again. “What  _ is  _ this?”

Party barks out a laugh. “Oh my god,” they say. “Oh my  _ god _ , I totally forgot that they don’t allow alcohol in Batt City, oh fuck.” They giggle, pulling Jet away from the table so that other people can fill up their jars and glasses with cordial. 

Jet shakes his head. “Why would you  _ drink _ this?” he asks, because his throat still hurts and it doesn’t even really taste good. He knows what alcohol  _ is, _ of course, knows what it’s  _ for- _ -relaxing and socializing and all that--but shouldn’t that kind of thing at least  _ taste good? _

They roll their eyes, but it’s playful. “You don’t have to drink it,” they say. “But it’s good once ya get used to it. And it’ll prob’ly relax you.” They hold out their hand, the one not clutching their own drink. “Seriously, I’ll drink yours if you don’t want it.”

He eyes them for a moment, considering, then shakes his head. “I’ll drink it,” he says, because relaxing honestly does sound pretty good right now. He takes another drink, and it still burns, but it isn’t as bad this time.

Party smiles at him, and he smiles back. 

The song changes to something faster and with less bass, and Party bounces on their toes. “Oh, fuck, I  _ love _ this song! Let’s  _ dance! _ ” They knock back the last of their drink and set the empty jar down somewhere.

“Okay,” Jet says without thinking. He takes another, longer, drink of his cordial and follows Party across the room and through the crowd to an open spot of floor. Party closes their eyes and starts moving their body to the beat, shoulders and hips and head, their arms up above their head. Jet’s staring. He knows it, but he can’t seem to stop. Every movement Party makes causes the glitter they’ve painted all over themself to catch the lights in a new way, and it keeps drawing his eyes from one spot to another. The shine on their eyelids is particularly fascinating, somehow, and he’s startled when they open their eyes and glare at him.

“Fucker!” Party says, and Jet freezes, wondering what he’s done wrong, but then Party’s hands are on his hips, pulling him closer. “Why aren’t you dancin’? That’s why we’re  _ here!” _

“Uh,” says Jet, and he feels like his brain is maybe short-circuiting or something because he’s hyper aware of the feeling of Party’s hands, warm even through the fabric of his shirt, and because Party’s eyes are  _ really _ pretty up close like this. He clears his throat. “I, uh,” he tries again, “I can’t dance. I mean--I don’t know how. Especially not to--” he waves one hand toward the nearest speaker, “--this.”

Party stares at him a moment longer, and then they let out one of their honking laughs. “Ya just gotta move,” they say, and they do so, their hands pressing against his hips so he’s forced to move along with them. “Easy, see?”

“Uh. Uh, yeah.” Fuck, Jet feels like he’s on fire or something. He’s hot all over,

especially at the tips of his ears, and he  _ itches, _ not (just) from the glitter, but under his skin, twitchy. He wants to move, wants to--

He doesn’t really know what it is he wants to do, but he pulls away from Party, downs the rest of his drink and sets the jar down on the closest flat surface--the speaker, actually--and then reaches forward and places his own hands on Party’s waist. “Uh,” he says. “Um, okay. Move...like this?” He steps to the side, and then moves back, an awkward shuffling motion. Party laughs, shakes their head.

“No, no. Like this.” Their hands go to his shoulders, and they guide him, moving him with them. Jet’s starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges, and that’s okay because it’s a really nice feeling, and it makes it a little easier to follow their motions. He tightens his hold on their waist and grins at them.

“This is fun,” he exclaims over the music, and Party nods.

“You’re not so bad at this,” they tell him, and he nods back at them.

Another song starts up, and this one is louder, with a more frantic beat, and someone slams into Jet’s back and pushes him forward, pressed up against Party, and he scrambles back. “Uh,” he says. “Sorry.”

Party raises an eyebrow at him, their lips quirked into a little smirk. “No problem,” they say. “Want another drink?”

He nods, and this time he’s the one leading Party through the crowd.

_ Live while they can. _

 

==========

 

Ghoul fuckin’  _ loves _ parties. He didn’t when he was a kid, didn’t really enjoy them at all until two or three years ago, but now he loves them. Loves the lights, and the music, and the people all over. Loves knowing that he’s  _ alive _ , that everyone around him is alive and enjoying their lives and that he’s a  _ part _ of it, even if in some small way.

He especially loves how Kobra stays with him the whole time, keeping one hand pressed to his lower back, or his arm wrapped around Ghoul’s shoulders. He never leaves Ghoul alone, never lets anyone assume that either of them are open to dancing or flirting or lingering touches from anyone but each other.

So maybe Ghoul likes to flaunt his relationship with Kobra a little bit. He isn’t ashamed of that.

Beside him, Kobra snorts a little, eyeing him as he takes a sip of his cordial.  _ ‘Show off,’ _ he accuses, and Ghoul flips him off.

_ ‘Gotta,’ _ he replies.  _ ‘Can’t have everyone thinkin’ they can get with you just ‘cause they wanna fuck the hot rebel superhero. You’re  _ my  _ hot piece of ass.’ _

Kobra rolls his eyes.  _ ‘Vulgar,’ _ he thinks at Ghoul, and he leans down and presses a kiss to his temple. Ghoul knows he’s left a smear of his dark lipstick behind, knows there’s more marks on his cheeks and his neck. He loves it.

_ ‘Let’s find Party,’ _ Kobra says, tugging lightly at the ends of Ghoul’s hair.  _ ‘They’re thinkin’ about Jet’s ass again and they need to be suitably punished.’ _

_ ‘Dude,’ _ Ghoul says, pretending not to be amused by the statement,  _ ‘Tune ‘em out. You didn’t seriously think they  _ weren’t _ gonna be thinkin’ about somethin’ like that tonight, did you?’ _

_ ‘No,’ _ Ghoul can tell Kobra’s kind of grumpy, and he doesn’t bother to hold back his laugh, and just swats at Kobra when he reaches forward to flick the tip of his nose.  _ ‘I just don’t wanna lose track of ‘em,’ _ he continues.  _ ‘Don’t wanna lose ‘em again.’ _

And Ghoul can understand that. He doesn’t think Party’s gonna disappear again, not so soon after they got them back, but he can understand how Kobra’s feeling. He presses closer to Kobra’s side, letting their warmth mingle, and thinks about soothing things, like cool mornings and soft blankets and cuddling up in bed together.

Kobra sends him a feeling of appreciation, and then continues,  _ ‘Just don’t wanna hear their fuckin’... _ thirst thoughts _ all the damn time.’ _

_ ‘Gonna be worse if they actually get together,’  _ Ghoul tells him, and Kobra groans aloud.

_ ‘When,’ _ he says. ‘When _ they get together. I’m gonna go crazy, Ghoul.’  _

Ghoul leans up and presses a kiss to his jaw.  _ ‘Just tune ‘em out,’ _ he says again.  _ ‘We can go annoy them if you want, keep ‘em in our sights, but get outta their head for a while. You’ll feel better.’ _

Kobra sighs, nods.  _ ‘Okay, _ ’ he thinks.  _ ‘Yeah, okay, you’re right. C’mon, let’s go find ‘em.’ _

Ghoul slips his hand into Kobra’s and pulls him into the crowd.

 

==========

 

Jet and Party are each about halfway through their second drinks when Show Pony comes up to them. Party spots them before Pony notices the two of them, and they shake their head fondly at Pony’s choice of attire. Immaculate makeup and glitter in their hair, as usual, and their ever-present crop top and roller skates. Party will never understand how they can wear those things everywhere. Of course, Party’s last attempt at roller skates wasn’t so great, so maybe they’re just biased.

“Party, baby!” Pony says when they finally spot them, flinging their arms over Party’s shoulders. “I was  _ so _ hoping you’d turn up! How  _ are _ you, sugar?”

Party, who really is feeling pretty good right now, laughs and hugs them back. “Like I’d turn down an invitation like this.” They hold up their glass. “Free goddamn  _ booze, _ Pony!”

Pony grins at them. “Only the best for you, babe,” they say, and flick at Party’s hair. “And since that dreadful Sham Pain dropped off the face of the earth, there should be enough for everybody!” They lean to one side then, peering around Party. “Oh, why Jet Star!” they say--or rather,  _ purr. _ Party knows that tone. That’s their  _ flirtatious _ tone, and they feel themself bristle. “Fancy seeing you here. And looking so gorgeous, too.  _ So _ sparkly. That look  _ really _ suits you.”

Jet looks up from his now-empty glass and gives Pony a grin. “Thanks!” he says cheerfully. He tilts his head, looking at Pony’s chest, and Party feels themself stiffen. Fuck--yeah, Pony’s hot, but seriously, Jet?! Gotta be so obvious?! Fuck. No, Party has no right to be jealous,  _ really, _ but that doesn’t stop them from feeling it.

“BL/ind would hate that shirt!” Jet yells over the music, and Party frowns. They follow his gaze to Pony’s shirt, which reads, in hand-painted rainbow letters,  _ “this machine kills fascists.”  _ Oh. That’s what he’d been looking at. Obviously. Party’s almost embarrassed about the amount of relief they feel.

“That’s the point, baby!” Pony says with a wink, and they skate around Party to drape themself over Jet’s back, propping their chin on his shoulder. “So, how’re you enjoyin’ the party, hm?”

“Yeah, party’s great!” Jet enthuses, and he makes no move to pull away from Pony. Party’s jealousy comes back full force, but they keep their mouth shut, simply turning their attention elsewhere, looking back across the dance floor. It’s none of Party's business what Jet does. It  _ isn’t! _

“Oh, wonderful. I’m always  _ so _ happy to hear my guests are enjoying themselves,” Pony says, and their voice has dipped lower, softer. Party tightens their grip on their glass, takes another drink, pointedly doesn’t look at either of them.

“Yeah,” says Jet. “Really like this, uh...this cordial stuff.” There’s a pause, and then he continues, in a sad tone, “‘S all gone, though….”

“Oh, yes, you’ve finished that glass, hm? Well, that’s alright, there’s plenty more. Would you like me to get you another glass, Jet Star?” Party’s still not looking at them, but they know Pony’s doing that  _ thing _ while they talk, running their fingers up and down Jet’s arm. Fuck!

“No,” Party says, surprising themself. They turn toward the two of them, and they see that they were right--Pony’s fingers are skating over the skin of his arm, and Party bites their lip to keep from snapping at them. 

Pony quirks an eyebrow at them, mouth set at an amused angle. “Oh?” they say, and their tone makes Party’s blood boil. “I wasn’t askin’  _ you, _ sugar. I was asking Mr. Jet Star here. Unless  _ you _ wanted to get the two of us a drink, Party baby?” There’s a challenge in their voice, and Party grits their teeth.

“Back off, Pony,” they say, fighting not to snarl. Their eyes are locked with Pony’s, carefully avoiding Jet’s gaze.

“Oh, why Party!” Pony says. “I’m so sorry, I thought you said he was still on the table!”

Party sucks in a breath, sets their jaw. Fuck, they’re right, it’s not like they have any claim over Jet. They’re friends! Friends, not--not anything else. Fuck. They sigh. “He...is,” they admit. “I just--I don’t want him gettin’ tangled up with you, Show Pony!” Which is true, if not the entire story. Party loves Pony, really--but they know what they’re like in relationships, and they don’t want Jet to have to deal with that. It wouldn’t be the kind of relationship someone like Jet would want.

Or would he? Maybe he would. Why wouldn’t he want to be with Pony? They’d probably be a better match than him and Party, right? Fuck. Party’s not exactly great at relationships, either, that much is clear. Maybe neither of them are good for Jet. Not that Party  _ wants _ to be in a relationship with Jet, of course.  _ Shit! _

Pony laughs, a teasing sound. “Party,” they say patiently, and move their hand up into Jet’s hair. “Jet Star’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions, hm?”

And of course he can. He’s a fucking  _ adult _ , and he’s not in an exclusive relationship with Party--not in  _ any _ kind of relationship with Party--and there’s nothing Party can do, because Jet clearly likes Pony, and Party has  _ no goddamn claim over him!  _ Fuck!

“Yeah,” says Jet, and Party’s heart sinks. They still don’t look at him. They don’t want to see the lovestruck expression they’re sure he’s aiming at Pony. “Yeah, I’m a...I’m a  _ big _ boy,” Jet continues, probably a little too loudly, given their close proximity. And suddenly there’s a hand in Party’s, and they look up sharply, and Jet’s smiling at them, clearly tipsy, eyes half-lidded, and  _ his hand is in Party’s! _ “Let’s go dance some more,” he says, and pulls Party out onto the dance floor. “Bye, Pony!” he calls, and stumbles, and hiccups. He looks at Party again, eyes wide. “I forgot,” he says. “I can’t dance.”

And Party’s stuck between being absolutely goddamn  _ shocked _ and utterly fucking  _ delighted _ because Jet turned down Pony to  _ dance with them. _ That means something. It must, right? It must mean  _ something! _ They shake their head, grasp both of Jet’s hands tightly in their own, and pull him in close. He’s taller than they are by just a few inches, and that puts them at the perfect height to bury their face in his neck, but they don’t do that because just because Jet wants to dance with them, that doesn’t mean he’d appreciate Party putting their mouth all over him or something. So they just put their hands on his hips again and keep him close.

“You can dance just fine,” they say. “And even if you were bad at it, I wouldn’t mind.”

Jet beams at them. His face is flushed underneath the glitter, and he’s kind of sweaty, and he’s kind of fucking beautiful and Party thinks they might be kind of in love, but those are dangerous thoughts to have right now--dangerous thoughts to have  _ ever, _ honestly--so they’re just not gonna think about that right now.

They dance.

 

==========

 

Kobra’s watching his sibling from his spot against the wall, Ghoul perched on a stool beside him that puts them at almost the same height. He’s tuned out of their head, tuned out from everyone except for Ghoul, and he’s even used his silencing ability to tone down the voices and other sounds around the two of them so that they can actually hear each other.

Kobra’s powers are pretty damn awesome, and he knows it.

He’s watching Party dance with Jet and is incredibly glad he’s not listening to either of their thoughts right now. He says as much to Ghoul, who laughs and kicks him in the shin.

“Don’t need to peek at their thoughts to tell what they’re thinkin’,” Ghoul tells him. “Shit, Kobes, you can see those bedroom eyes from here!”

Kobra groans, slumping down further against the wall. It’s not that he doesn’t want his sibling to be happy, to find someone--quite the opposite, in fact--but it’s at times like these that he wishes he  _ couldn’t _ read minds at all, or could at least turn the power off without having to concentrate. Because, yeah, they’re all gonna go home later, and Kobra’s not gonna be paying attention to what his power’s doing, and he’s gonna pick up some stray thoughts and he’s gonna  _ hear, _ in  _ explicit detail, _ every single thought Party has about Jet and what they  _ want _ to do  _ with _ Jet and he’s going to have to scrub his brain with a bottle brush or something to get the images out of his mind.

He knows this from experience, because it’s happened before--not the bottle brush thing, because he can’t  _ really _ scrub his brain like that (unfortunately)--but the whole explicit detail thing. Kobra has intimate knowledge of way too many people he hasn't actually fucked, and he  _ really _ hates that fact.

“Oh, well if it isn’t Kobra Kid and his little gremlin!” 

Kobra sighs, turning toward the voice--Show Pony’s here. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised to see them, because after all this  _ is _ their party, and his sibling  _ was _ talking to them not long ago, but still. 

“Hey, Pony,” he says. “Don’t call Ghoul a gremlin.”

Ghoul flips them off.

Show Pony rolls their eyes. “Anyway,” they say, adamantly ignoring Ghoul, “I see your sibling has a gorgeous new boytoy, hm?” They eye Party and Jet, who’ve stopped dancing for now and are making their way back to the alcohol. “Do you think they’ll let me play once they’re done with him? Because really, it isn’t every day we get fresh blood out here in the desert, and it’s even rarer that we get someone with collarbones like  _ that.” _ Pony makes an appreciative sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, and Ghoul makes a face and blows a raspberry at them.

“Yeah fuckin’ right,” he says. “Think you’re gonna have to wait a  _ long _ while for Party to be ‘done’ with Jet, Pony.” 

They sigh. “You’re probably right, loathe as I am to admit it to a greasy hairball like you. Party isn’t usually so protective over their datemates.” They shake their head. “ _ Incredibly _ unfair.”

Kobra shrugs, still keeping an eye on his sibling. They’re filling two jars with that dark cordial now, handing one to Jet. He looks at Show Pony. “Did you actually need something,” he asks, “or did you just come to complain about my sibling?”

Pony rolls their eyes again, jutting out one hip and resting their hand on it. “Well,” they say. “I  _ did _ want to know if you were having a good time, but--” they eye Ghoul--or, more accurately, the lipstick marks Kobra’s left all over his face and neck. “Well. I can see that you have been.”

Kobra smirks. Planting lipstick marks on Ghoul is one of his favorite party activities.

Ghoul grins, too. “Jealous?” he asks Pony, waggling his eyebrows. 

Pony groans. “Everyone has a significant other and I’m the only one here, at my  _ own party, _ without someone to kiss senseless! Where is the  _ justice?!” _

“Think Cherri’s single, actually,” Kobra says helpfully, wrapping his arm around Ghoul’s shoulders and tugging him closer.

Show Pony wrinkles their nose. “I am  _ not _ going to flirt with  _ Cherri Cola,  _ Kobra.”

Kobra shrugs. Raises a single eyebrow.

Pony flings their head back dramatically. “Good  _ god, _ ” they say emphatically. “I’m going to have to flirt with Cherri Cola, aren’t I?”

Kobra smirks at them, winks, and simply says, “Stay gold, Show Pony.” He turns back toward their sibling. Show Pony skates off, muttering something under their breath _ , _ but Kobra ignores them. 

Jet and Party are talking and laughing about something. Kobra finds his curiosity is piqued, because Jet hasn’t really laughed too much in the time they’ve all spent together, and he sort of wants to know what they’ve said to make him laugh. So he decides to tune back in to Party. Even if he’ll probably regret it.

Even though he’ll  _ definitely _ regret it.

 

==========

 

When Jet seems to get a little tired of dancing, Party leads him back over to the table, where there’s still a bit of food and drink laid out despite the number of people who’ve been making trips here throughout the night.

Jet keeps  _ smiling _ at them, which isn’t really all that unusual, except for the fact that these smiles are more  _ intense _ , or meaningful, or  _ something _ , and Party fucking loves it. He hasn’t let go of their hand, either, and it’s getting pretty sweaty, but they don’t actually mind, because somehow Jet’s sweat is just better than anyone else’s sweat.

And that’s a  _ weird _ fucking thought.

So, they take him over to the table and pour them each a glass of cordial. It’ll probably be the last of the night, because it’s almost gone. Disappointing, because Sand Tick really does make the best goddamn cordial in the desert, and it’s expensive and hard to get your hands on. So, Party’s gonna enjoy it while they can.

They hand Jet one of the glasses, and he takes it with a grin, still holding Party’s hand. “Thanks!” he says, and Party’s stomach--or maybe their heart--flips at how bright his tone sounds.

“Uh, yeah, no problem,” they say, and then take a deep drink to cover their awkwardness. What the hell, they really have it fucking  _ bad, _ don’t they?

Jet doesn’t drink yet. Instead he looks over the remaining food on the table, a frown on his face.

“What’s up?” Party asks, following his gaze to an empty pie pan. It looks like it’s actually been licked clean, too. Must’ve been a real good pie.

“There’s no more apple pie,” Jet says, and he sounds  _ so fucking sad. _ Party’s heart almost  _ breaks. _

“Yeah, that stuff tends to disappear pretty quick,” they say. “Pretty hard to get apples and flour and stuff, y’know?”

“Yeah…” Jet looks at Party again, and he looks so  _ grief-stricken _ over a goddamn  _ pie _ that Party’s torn between laughing and comforting him.

They stare at him for a moment, and then they can’t help it anymore: they burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” they say. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, but Jet, your fuckin’  _ face, _ god, your expressions are always the fuckin’  _ best, _ holy  _ shit!” _

Jet joins them in laughing, their hands pulling apart as they both shake, and Party only feels a little sad about that because Jet’s laughter is even better than his weird facial expressions. “Sorry, sorry!” he says. “It’s just--” he interrupts himself with another laugh before continuing, “--It’s just, an  _ apple pie, _ Party! Apples!”

Party doesn’t even know why they’re still laughing, but there’s tears in their eyes, and they try to stop the giggles with another swig of their drink. “Fuck,” they say, spilling a little down their front. “God, Jet, We’re gonna--I’m gonna get you some apples. I’m gonna make you a goddamn  _ pie.  _ And it’s gonna be  _ delicious!” _

Jet’s laughter is calming down, and he sends Party a wide grin. “Yeah?” he says, a hopeful tone in his voice. “I’d like that. I’d really...really like that.” Is Party imagining the implications in his tone, or is it just them? Probably just them. God, they’ve got it bad.

Jet tilts his head back to take a long drink then, and Party finds their eyes drawn to the movement of his throat, the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and their mouth suddenly goes dry.

His eye catches theirs as he moves to set his glass aside, and there must be some kind of awe-struck expression on their face, because he looks at them quizzically and asks, “What is it?”

And before Party can respond, they’re interrupted by a voice in their head. 

_ ‘Party,’ _ their brother says, and he sounds so, so tired and so, so disappointed.  _ ‘Please. Please _ never _ think about how sexy Jet’s larynx is ever again.’ _

They don’t reply, but they feel their face heat up. They down the rest of their drink, averting their eyes, and say, “It’s late. We should, uh, we should find Kobra and Ghoul and get going.”

“Oh,” says Jet. “Right. That’s a good idea.” He sounds more subdued than he had a moment ago, but he still slips his hand back into Party’s and gives it a squeeze. “Let’s find them, then.”

And Party nods, and smiles, and tries not to think about how utterly screwed they are when Jet runs his thumb across their knuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gOD okay!!  
> 1) show pony's shirt is a reference to a post on tumblr ( https://upthrust-the-volume.tumblr.com/post/182745189459/i-dont-really-think-show-pony-is-a-droid-either )  
> 2) if you caught the Outsiders reference(s), you can thank my zucchini ace bc i didn't even think about that until they pointed it out to me.  
> 3) kobra's black lipstick was also ace's idea and i kinda ran with it.  
> 4) when jet says "Yeah, party's great!" i need you all to know that if this was in his pov, that p would be capitalized.
> 
> ART: https://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/184678979691/asexualrinmatsuoka-party-barely-has-a-moment-to  
> this scene is honestly so funny in comic form, oh my god! thank you ace! <3
> 
> also, since i'm adding links here, i DO have a tumblr, where sometimes i post behind the scenes stuff and mostly yell about bands and killjoys: https://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com/
> 
> i thrive on comments, btw, so if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd love to hear your thoughts!! :)
> 
> see you all next sunday ;)


	13. Wanna Try Wanna Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party's not ready.  
> Jet's not a chef.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 20! can't believe i've actually managed to post something for 20 weeks straight! proud of myself! :)
> 
> big thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and for keeping me motivated all the time!!  
> also, big thank you to tumblr user bluu-ghost for ART!! she drew some good good party looks from last chapter! link in the end notes! :D
> 
> enjoy! :)

When Jet wakes up, his head is  _ killing _ him, and he has no idea why. 

It’s dark in the diner, although he knows the sun is up because there’s light peeking in around the edges of the curtain, which he doesn’t think they usually draw at night, but he’s grateful for it right now because he knows that if they  _ weren’t _ drawn, his headache would be about five hundred times worse.

It’s quiet, unless you count the pounding in his head, and as Jet slides out of his booth and gets unsteadily to his feet, he wonders if he’s the first one up or the last one up. Either seems likely. Also, he’s really thirsty.

He walks quietly across the floor to the kitchen, where one of the barrels of water has been hooked up to the sink. He grabs a mug and fills it with the tepid water, downs it, and fills it up again. He contemplates a third cup, but that seems far too greedy, so instead he opens up a cupboard to find some breakfast.

There’s actually several cans of things which are  _ not _ , in fact, dog food, but he isn’t sure if anyone has claim over them or if they have plans for them, so he just sighs and snags a can of Power-Pup.

Once he’s seated again and opened up the can, he takes a bite. Yeah, it definitely needs mustard.

He swipes his hand across his face and looks down at it. There’s still a few flakes of glitter there, but he’d managed to scrub most of it off the night before. Still, he wonders how long he’ll be finding little specks of it all over the place.

A door opens, and Jet whips his head toward the sound. He immediately regrets it, because the pounding in his head gets way worse at the motion, and now he actually feels a little nauseous too, so he lays his head down and groans, closing his eyes.

“Hangover, huh?” Kobra says, tone neutral. Jet forces one eye open to see Kobra standing nearby, Ghoul hanging from his torso, as usual. Jet groans out a reply, screwing his eyes shut.

He listens to the usual sounds of Kobra disentangling himself from Ghoul’s limbs and dropping him into the seat across from Jet, and only once he hears Kobra walk into the kitchen does he sit up and open his eyes again.

Ghoul’s sitting directly across from him, squinting grumpily at him, and there are dark marks all over his skin. Jet snorts out a little laugh, and Ghoul frowns at him.

“Shut up,” Ghoul says irritably, but Jet doesn’t think he’s actually upset at him--just not fully awake.

“Sorry,” Jet says, but he’s much more amused than apologetic. “It’s just--dark lipstick’s a good look for you.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes and absently touches one of the marks on his jaw, and Jet thinks he’s wearing a fond expression as he does so. “Yeah, well,  _ somebody _ seems to think he’s gotta put his mouth all over me just so no one gets the wrong idea.” Ghoul shoots a pointed look at Kobra as he slides in beside him. Jet snorts again. Ghoul and Kobra seem to really enjoy pretending to be exasperated by each other. It’s probably how they flirt.

And that thought takes Jet back to last night. Some of his memories are a little fuzzy around the edges, but he remembers everything: the dancing, the lingering touches. The flirting? He  _ thinks _ Party might have flirted with him, and he’s pretty sure  _ he _ flirted with  _ Party _ , but he’s not completely sure if his flirting was actually  _ recognizable _ as flirting, because he doesn’t have any experience with flirting and he doesn’t really think he can use Ghoul and Kobra as models of what good flirting is supposed to look like.

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Kobra says, and he sounds genuinely disgusted. Jet glances at him. “Stop thinkin’ about flirting with my sibling. I had to deal with this  _ all night _ yesterday, and I just wanna spend my mornin’  _ not _ havin’ to hear about hands and asses and  _ throats. _ ”

“Oh, sorry,” Jet says, feeling himself flush as he looks back down at his breakfast. He doesn’t think he’d thought about Party’s ass  _ that _ much. And he doesn’t remember thinking about Party’s throat at all, because that’s kind of weird to him, but then again Party  _ does _ have a very nice neck now that he thinks about it, so maybe he did and that’s just one of the fuzzier memories.

Kobra groans across from him, Ghoul laughing--probably making fun of Kobra, or Jet--and Jet hastily takes another bite of his dog food and forces himself to think about something else.

Yesterday’s training in the desert--was that really only yesterday? Holy shit, this last entire week has been so weird--went pretty well, he thinks. No one died (as far as he knows, a little voice in the back of his mind whispers. He ignores it, though, because he can’t allow himself to think about that right now), and the rain had brought some good to the people here, and he intentionally used his powers twice, with the same vague thought. Granted, two different things had happened, which he knows neither he nor Kobra were expecting or wanting, but maybe with practice he can learn to bring about the same disasters on command.

Maybe he can even learn to control the power of the disasters. If he can cause a flood, can he also cause a gentle rain? He isn’t sure exactly how his powers work, still, but if that’s something he can do...he can actually help instead of just destroying. Or at least  _ tone down _ the destruction he causes, because that seems to be all he can do: destroy. His power should probably be called Destructive Disaster or something. He just wants to use it for something productive.

Another door opens, and he hears footsteps. Party’s up, then. 

Jet’s grinning before he even turns around, and he locks eyes with them and says, “Good morning, Party!” in as cheerful a voice as he can.

Party, face still slack from sleep, manages to give him a little smile. “Mornin’,” they say. Then they blink, and they look away and hurry into the kitchen. 

Jet scoots over on the cracked vinyl seat, pushing his blanket and sofa cushion up against the wall so that Party has space to sit next to him. He’s trying very hard not to think about holding their hand or bumping his knee against theirs, as per Kobra’s request, but it’s actually really difficult to do so. 

Party grabs a can out of the cupboard, but instead of sitting beside him, they mumble something he can’t quite make out and hurry out the door. Jet watches them go, feeling himself deflate. Where are they going? As long as Jet’s been here, Party’s always eaten inside, at the table.

They’re not... _ avoiding _ him, are they?

Across from him, Kobra drops his head to the table with a quiet  _ thunk _ and groans out, “Oh my  _ god. _ ” He looks at Ghoul. “This is even worse than the  _ pining. _ They’re gonna be the fuckin’  _ death _ of me, Ghoul.” He straightens up, looks at Jet. “We’ll train more today,” he says. “Don’t worry about Party, they’re just bein’ stupid.” He shakes his head, then gets up from his seat, pulling Ghoul with him. 

Jet nods at Kobra, not sure what to say. He isn’t sure why Party’s avoiding him--stupidity, apparently, but that doesn’t actually tell him  _ why _ \--but he supposes he can’t really linger on it. Especially if he’s going to be nice to Kobra and not think about doing romantic things with his sibling.

Kobra shakes his head at Jet again and then turns away. “C’mon, Ghoul, we’re takin’ a shower. You’re fuckin’  _ filthy. _ ”

“Oh, really?” Ghoul says. He rubs at a lipstick mark on his neck. “Gee, I wonder whose fuckin’ fault  _ that _ is.”

“Shut up,” Kobra says. “You love it. And anyway, I was talkin’ about the fact that you’re a walkin’ pile of grease and grime.”

Jet only hears Ghoul’s answering  _ “So?” _ before they’ve both disappeared into the bathroom. He frowns, because Kobra had said they were going to train but then he’d left with Ghoul, so he isn’t sure what to do now. Are they going to do it in the afternoon, when it’s hottest? Or should he just go right now? Or maybe they’ll do it this evening?

_ ‘Just go tell Party to follow you in spirit form and I’ll work from here,’ _ Kobra tells him in his mind.

_ ‘Oh, okay,’ _ he replies.  _ ‘I’ll, uh, hear from you soon, then.’ _

Jet receives a voiceless affirmative from Kobra, so he gets to his feet and readies himself to follow after Party, hoping they’re not actually avoiding him. 

He’d almost forgotten about his headache, which had faded to more of a dull ache, until he opens the diner’s door, and the sunlight lances straight into his brain. “Ah,  _ fuck,” _ he says, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing a hand up to shield them. “Party?” he calls weakly, stepping completely out of the building. 

Something hits him in the arm, and he jumps, turns, and opens his eyes just a fraction to see what it is.

There’s a pair of sunglasses hovering next to him. He’s confused for only a moment before he realizes that Party must be using their telekinesis to deliver them to him, so he takes them and slips them on. He’s better almost instantly, and he looks around for Party. 

He finds them sitting on the roof for some reason. An open can of Power-Pup sits beside them, and they’re staring off into the distance. The sun is shining on their hair, lighting it up and making the red look softer. It’s nice.

“Thanks!” he calls to them, gesturing to the sunglasses. 

“No problem,” they say, but they still aren’t looking at him. He frowns. Party seems really subdued this morning.

“Are you okay?” he asks. When he doesn’t get a response, he tries again. “I mean--we were out kind of late last night. Did you sleep okay? Or...did you drink too much?” That could be--maybe Party has a hangover too.

But Party just ducks their head. “No!” they say. “I mean. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Well, now Jet’s definitely worried, because why would they tell him not to worry like that unless there  _ is _ something to worry about? He doesn’t say anything, though, because hopefully they’ll tell him later. He changes the subject. “Kobra says we need to go train again. Um...are you up for it?” If Party isn’t feeling well, they’ll just have to put it off. 

They nod. “Sure. I’ll go lay down.” Party climbs down the ladder, leaving the Power-Pup can up on the roof. They jump the last couple of feet and go into the diner without looking back at him.

Jet’s heart squeezes. They’re mad at him. They  _ must _ be, because why else would they treat him so coldly? From the moment he  _ met _ Party, they’ve been nothing but enthusiastic and...and  _ charming. _ He must have done something wrong, but what?

He’s sure Party was okay with the touching and stuff last night, since they’d initiated most of it, so he’s positive it’s not that. He’s pretty sure nothing last night would have upset them, actually. So what is it? Why are they treating him like this? Was it the fact that he let Show Pony hang off of him? Because he’d only done that for, like, a minute before realizing it upset Party, and then he hadn’t even seen Show Pony for the rest of the night, and Party had seemed pretty open and enthusiastic about dancing and all that after the fact.

He shakes his head, turns away from the diner, and starts making his way to the spot where he’d trained yesterday. They can’t be mad at him. They’re probably just not feeling well, so Jet’s just going to have to make sure they’re comfortable. Hopefully using their power to come out to the desert with him won’t be too taxing--maybe he can make them some of that lord’s drink they’d made for him when they get back. 

Yeah. That sounds like a plan.

 

==========

 

“Ghoul,” Kobra says, eyeing his boyfriend, who’s standing completely naked in their bathtub. “Your  _ elbows. _ ”

Ghoul twists his right arm around, trying to get a good look at his elbow. “What about them?” he asks.

“They’re fuckin’ caked in dirt. You’re--seriously, Ghoul, when was the last time you bathed?”

Ghoul shrugs. “When was the last big rainstorm?” he asks. “Before yesterday, I mean.”

Kobra makes the most disgusted face he can muster up. “I  _ kissed _ you,” he says. “God. I gotta wash my entire goddamn  _ mouth. _ ”

“You should anyway, because it’s fuckin’ filthy. Now get  _ in _ here so I can turn the water on!”

Sighing, Kobra acquiesces, stepping into the tub behind him and pulling the ratty shower curtain closed. “You need to soak,” he says, and groans. “You were in the rain for like an hour yesterday and it didn’t put a  _ dent _ in this. You’re gonna use up all our fuckin’ soap.”

“Not if I just don't use any soap.” Ghoul turns the water on and it comes out tepid, as always. He immediately sticks his head under the stream, soaking his hair, then flicks his head back, flinging water all over Kobra.

Kobra sighs again and reaches past him to turn the water back off. “Use soap, dumbass,” he says. He hands Ghoul the bar of soap, then picks up a bottle of Super-Suds, pouring some of the shampoo into his hands and sinking his fingers into Ghoul’s wet hair.

Ghoul moans appreciatively, leaning back and almost dropping the bar of soap. “Oh my god,” he says. “I’ll fuckin’ bathe every day if you wash my hair every time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kobra says, scrubbing Ghoul’s scalp with his fingertips. “You say that every time. Wash up, Ghoul, you’re a mass of dirt and grease. Gross.”

Ghoul snorts, but he does start soaping up his skin. Kobra feels himself smile, suppressing the urge to bend forward and press a kiss to the top of Ghoul’s head, because he knows from experience that a mouth full of shampoo isn’t pleasant. He picks up some ambient thoughts from elsewhere in the building and pauses, fingers falling still in Ghoul’s hair.

Ghol continues to scrub his armpits, but he asks, “What’s up?”

Kobra shakes himself out of his trance and continues washing Ghoul’s hair. “Party’s in spirit form,” he says. “Was just checkin’ on ‘em.”

Ghoul hums a reply, setting the soap aside. “Still bein’ stupid?” he asks. 

Kobra rolls his eyes. “When aren’t they?” He shifts his hands, scritching at Ghoul’s scalp. “Anyway, sorry if I get kinda spacey.”

“Nah. I get it.” Ghoul says. “Ya gotta keep tabs on both of ‘em. Fuck, were  _ we _ ever that stupid?”

Kobra huffs out a laugh. “Ghoul,” he says, “you didn’t even realize you were in love with me ‘til I fuckin’ kissed you. I flirted with you every day for two years. I was  _ pining _ for you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, we still weren’t that bad.”

“Two  _ years, _ Ghoul.” Kobra rubs his thumb over a lipstick mark on the side of Ghoul’s neck, erasing it. “We were absolutely that stupid and you’re a dumbass for thinkin’ we weren’t.”

“Whatever.” Kobra can sense the amusement from Ghoul, so he doesn’t say anything, just turns the water back on and starts scrubbing the shampoo out of his hair.

_ ‘Headin’ into the desert,’ _ Party thinks to him.  _ ‘All good. I’ll letcha know when we need somethin’.’ _

_ ‘Got it. Stop bein’ stupid, by the way,’ _ he sends back. He looks down and groans. “Ghoul, we’re standin’ in a fuckin’ lake of soapy mud.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m clean now,” Ghoul retorts. He turns and grabs Kobra, switching places with him and shoving his head under the stream of water. Kobra splutters, not expecting the sudden rush of lukewarm water into his eyes and nostrils.

“Thanks,” he says, coughing. “Drowning your boyfriend isn’t very good shower etiquette.”

“If I wanted to drown ya, I’d stick your head down in that muddy puddle you hate so much,” Ghoul says, and turns the water off. “Now, you want your hair washed or not?”

Kobra immediately bends forward, giving Ghoul better access to his head. Ghoul’s soapy fingers slip into his hair, and Kobra’s eyes slide shut. Yeah, okay, so having someone wash your hair is pretty much pure bliss. If they had the water, they would both be doing this every day, no doubt.

While Ghoul’s occupied, Kobra reaches behind himself, groping for the bar of soap. It feels significantly smaller than it had when he’d handed it to Ghoul a few minutes ago. Frowning, he opens one eye and peers at it.

He sighs. “Ghoul. I fuckin’ knew you’d use all the soap.”

“I did not!” Ghoul scrubs more aggressively at Kobra’s scalp. “You’re literally holdin’ soap right now!”

“I think it’s mostly mud, actually,” Kobra says. “It’s like, paper-thin and half suds either way. Wet dirt with some residual suds stuck to it, maybe.” Regardless of what percentage of the soap  _ is, _ in fact, soap, he starts washing his body anyway, because he refuses to ever come even close to Ghoul’s level of hygiene.

“Kobes,” Ghoul says, “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Sure,” Kobra replies. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” He lifts his head, displacing Ghoul’s fingers from his hair, and gives him a quick kiss. He reaches back and turns the water back on, washing the soap from his hair and skin as fast as he can.”

“Okay,” Ghoul says. “I’m gonna go dry off now, ‘cause I’m kinda sick of bein’ wet and drippin’ all over the place.” He shakes himself, sprinkling Kobra with water droplets for the second time.

“Yeah, yeah, have fun in the sun,” Kobra says. He pulls the shower curtain open again and steps out, shaking the excess water from each foot before placing them on the bathroom tile.

Ghoul races out of the bathroom, slipping a little on the tile, and doesn’t even pause to grab his boxers or anything. Kobra rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight the fondness he feels watching Ghoul’s bare ass disappear around the corner as he barrels out of the diner. “And don’t roll in the sand!” he calls after him. Ghoul sends him back a feeling of smugness, and Kobra snorts, knowing he won’t actually deliberately make himself filthy again so soon after their shower. Or, hoping, anyway. Sometimes Ghoul’s just an asshole.

As he dresses, pulling his clothes on over his dripping body and soaking them in the process, Kobra focuses his thoughts on Party and Jet. They’re still making their way to the training spot, of course, and Party is still agonizing over Jet like the idiot they are. He picks up some stray thoughts from Jet, though, something Kobra had noticed him thinking about earlier, something that he’s apparently thinking about  _ again, _ and Kobra smiles to himself.

“Hey, Ghoul,” he calls, scooping his boyfriend’s clothes into his arms and leaving the bathroom. “Get dressed, we gotta go to Tommy Chow Mein’s.”

Party can never complain to him about their love life after this.

 

==========

 

Party knows they’re acting like an ass, but seriously, if they make eye contact with Jet again, they’re gonna fucking-- _ combust _ or something! It’s just--Party’s no stranger to relationships. Hell, they’re no stranger to  _ love. _ But it’s just--it’s different, with Jet. Somehow.

They don’t want to fuck this up.

They’ve fucked up every relationship they’ve ever been in, and while that was all pretty awful at the time, they have a feeling that having a disastrous relationship with Jet would be fucking  _ devastating. _

And of course they didn’t fully consider this last night! Oh, no, they just  _ had _ to go and dance and flirt and hang all over him. And get all jealous when Show Pony tried to do the same. Fuck!

Whatever. They just have to ignore it. Ignore it all, focus on what they’re  _ supposed _ to be doing--watching over Jet while he rains disasters down upon himself in the middle of the goddamn desert--and maybe it’ll go away! Maybe Party will stop feeling so  _ soft _ for this guy. Maybe Jet will realize he can do better and he’ll stop liking them! Then they won’t even have to worry about fucking up the relationship, because there won’t ever  _ be _ a relationship!

That’s a really depressing thought.

_ ‘Oh my god,’ _ Kobra thinks to them.  _ ‘Party, stop moping and focus.’ _

_ ‘Thanks for being so supportive during my time of need,’ _ Party thinks back, but they do move closer to Jet. At least he can’t see them right now, which makes things a little easier.

_ ‘I think the fact that you haven’t done something stupid like break both your legs trying to impress him means that this is already different from your past relationships, and if you go into this aware of your past fuck-ups, you’re less likely to actually fuck it up. There. I helped. Now can we please get to work?’ _

_ ‘Oh my god, Kobes, that was  _ one time!  _ When will you let that go?! _ ’ Ignoring the fact that Kobra actually has helped a little, and given them something to consider. They still don’t appreciate him bringing up one of their past attempts at wooing.

_ ‘You broke your legs wearing  _ high-heeled roller skates. _ To impress  _ Show Pony _ of all people. I will never let you live that down.’ _

_ ‘You’re the worst!’ _

_ ‘I’m the  _ best. _ Now, listen. Jet’s tryin’ to trigger his power without my help, which means he’s gotta get his adrenaline goin’. I can monitor his thoughts and mood, but I need you to keep an eye out for danger--no more near-misses from meteorites, hopefully--and watch him, too. If he looks like he’s honestly panickin’ and not just shaky or whatever, I need you to tell me. Got it?’ _

Sounds pretty tough to Party. How do you even go about giving yourself an adrenaline rush? Can’t exactly go...skydiving or whatever the hell it was adrenaline junkies did before BL/ind took over. Jet’s got a scrunched-up look of concentration on his face, his eyes screwed shut, and Party can’t help but laugh.

_ ‘Don’t think it’s workin’, bro.’ _ Party sends Kobra an image of Jet’s face.

There’s a pause, and then Jet opens his eyes, looking right into Party’s, though he doesn’t know it. 

Man. Those warm brown eyes look even better out in the sun. They honestly  _ sparkle, _ and there’s still a few flakes of glitter stuck to his cheeks and in his hair, and Party might just melt if they keep looking at him like this, and--fuck, they gotta concentrate! Anyway, it’s still a bad idea to get involved with him.

_ ‘New plan, _ ’ Kobra thinks to them,  _ ‘I’m gonna up his adrenaline like last time. You keep an eye out for whatever’s gonna happen.’ _

_ ‘You got it, Kobes,’ _ they think, and face away from Jet to watch the horizon.

 

==========

 

By the time Jet gets back home, he’s exhausted.

He feels somehow both better and worse than he had yesterday. On the one hand, he didn’t have to jog through the pouring rain today, but on the other, he used his power more, too. 

It was something different each time: a wind that had kicked up sand, forcing him to lie low for a few minutes before it settled down; a lightning bolt which had struck sand just a few paces in front of him; a fire which had eaten through several scrub plants before Jet could put it out--sacrificing his jacket in the process. After Jet lost his jacket, Kobra had told him it was time to come home, so he wouldn’t end up sunburnt.

So now here he is, dripping with sweat, ready to drop at any moment, but first he has to check on Party.

He hadn’t heard anything from Party while he was working, just commands and observations from Kobra, so he assumes they’re still not feeling well.

They’re not in the main room when he comes in, so he goes to their bedroom door and knocks. There’s no answer. He knows Party’s in there, but--maybe they’re sleeping? Or maybe they haven’t gone back to their body yet? 

He’ll just peek inside, make sure they’re doing okay. Maybe have a more fruitful conversation if they’re awake and alert. He pushes the door open, the old wood swinging forward on the loose hinges.

Party’s laying on a pile of blankets and pillows, their chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. He can’t tell if they’re sleeping or just astral projecting still--he’s only seen them sleep once, so can’t really compare that with the few times he’s seen them when they’re out of their body--but they look...serene. He guesses that’s the best word for it. Their mouth is open slightly, their whole self relaxed where usually they’re so...energized. 

He backs out of the room and closes the door. Swallows, his throat tight because he hasn’t had water since this morning, he realizes. Oh, well, he wanted to make something for Party, anyway. He can at least locate everything he needs before they wake up, and make it then.

Jet kicks his boots off by the booth he’s been sleeping in (technically, they’re Party’s boots, because his own had been ruined by the combination of hot sand and cold water they’d had to deal with yesterday), goes into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of water and drinks it down. Then he opens a cupboard at random--Party had said it was just honey in water, right? So they must have honey around here somewhere….

_ ‘Top left, toward the back,’ _ Kobra thinks to him. 

Jet nods, moves over and opens the top left cupboard, reaches back and feels his fingertips brush against a glass jar. He pulls it toward him and looks at it: it’s about a quarter full of amber-colored liquid. He grins to himself.  _ ‘Thanks, Kobra,’ _ he thinks back. He sets the jar down on the counter and then goes to pick up a mug.

_ ‘There’s a bottle of milk in the cooler by the sink.’ _

Jet frowns, turning his gaze to the old blue plastic cooler.  _ ‘I thought milk was really expensive?’ _ he asks, unsure about whether he should really just be taking it. Party would probably really like it if it was made with milk instead of water, though. They’d said it was usually made that way. 

_ ‘It is,’  _ Kobra agrees.  _ ‘Heard ya wanted to make Party a lord’s drink, though, so me ‘n’ Ghoul went out to trade for some.’ _

_ ‘Wow,’ _ Jet says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.  _ ‘That’s--thank you.’ _

_ ‘Sure. By the way, Party’s still hangin’ around you in spirit form. Just so ya know.’ _

Jet resists the urge to look around, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. Instead, he reaches into the cooler and pulls out a little glass bottle of milk, sealed with what looks like waxed cloth. 

Okay. He has the milk and honey. Now how does he actually make the drink…? He doesn’t have much experience cooking, anyway, and this is something completely new to him.

He hears what sounds like a noisy sigh from Ghoul and Kobra’s room.  _ ‘Turn on the stove. Poor the milk into the pot. Heat the milk, stir it, don’t let it burn. Put in some honey. Ta-da.’ _

_ ‘That’s is?’  _ Jet had honestly thought it would be more complicated than that, but he’s tired enough that he’s more than grateful it’s as simple as that.

_ ‘That’s it. Now make the damn drink and go to sleep. I can feel your exhaustion and it sucks.’ _

_ ‘Oh, yeah. Sorry. Good, er, afternoon, Kobra.’ _

_ ‘Yeah, yeah. We’ll talk about your powers when I wake up.’ _

And then Jet’s brain is left with nothing but his own thoughts again. He sets about making the drink, in the hopes that it will make Party feel better and bring them back to their usual self.

 

==========

 

When the milk starts to burn and the smell hits his nostrils, Jet realizes he’s forgotten to stir the milk for several minutes and frantically grabs for the pot, yanking it off the stove and splashing some of the milk onto the burner. The horrible smell intensifies and a thin wisp of smoke starts curling its way up to the ceiling. 

He sets the pot on the counter and scoops some honey into it, hoping the drink will still taste good. 

He’s still stirring it all together when he hears Party’s bedroom door open, and footsteps moving toward him. They stop on the other side of the counter, facing him.

“You  _ burned _ it,” Party says accusingly. “You had  _ milk,  _ and you let it  _ burn!” _

Jet ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says. “Sorry.” It probably isn’t salvageable then, huh? Fuck...how much does milk cost out here? He’s going to have to pay them all back somehow…

“Why’re you tryin’ to make lord’s drink, anyway?”

“Hm?” Jet glances up at Party, who’s looking down into the pot of scalded milk. 

“I said, why’re you makin’ it? It’s calmin’, yeah, but it’s not good for you if you’ve been out in the heat all day. Not very hydratin’.” Their gaze shifts up slightly, probably looking at the front of his shirt, unfortunately still drenched in sweat, but they quickly look back at the pot.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, no, it wasn’t for me.” He frowns down at the milk, too.

“What?” Party sounds confused. “Then why the hell are you makin’ it?”

Jet can feel himself flush. “Uh….” he clears his throat. May as well tell the truth. “I was making it for you.”

There’s a pause, and Jet chances a glance at Party’s face. They’re staring at him with wide eyes, jaw slack. When his eyes meet theirs, they close their mouth with a  _ click. _

“Wait,” they say. “Wh--for me? Why?”

“Uh,” he says again. “Um. You seemed like you weren’t feeling great, this morning, so I thought--maybe it would help you?” he cringes a bit as he says it, though he’s not sure why--he doesn’t really think Party will make fun of him or yell at him--well, except about the burnt milk--but he’s still nervous about admitting it.

“You,” they say. They blink at him. “You made it for me?”

“...Yes?”

Party stares at him a moment longer, then ducks around the counter and moves swiftly past Jet. Confused, Jet turns, watching them as they move over to the stove and grab a mug, then turn around and thrust it at him.

Jet feels himself flinch back for a second before slowly reaching out to take the mug from their hand. Wait. So, Party wants…?  
“Fill it up, fucker,” Party says. “Let’s see if you can master one of the greatest recipes of the desert.”

Jet can’t hold back his amused snort. “I don’t think I’ve mastered it yet,” he says as he turns back to the pot. “I  _ did _ burn the milk.” He takes the spoon out and lifts the pot, carefully pouring the contents into the mug.

“Everybody burns the milk,” Party tells him, and he has a feeling that isn’t true, but he’s grateful for it anyway.

Jet sets the pot down and peers into the mug. He’s pretty sure this drink isn’t supposed to have...brown flecks in it. He winces and opens his mouth to tell Party that they should probably just throw it out, but then they’re reaching past him to pick it up themself.

He turns, following the cup with his eyes as Party lifts it to their lips and takes a sip. There’s a pause, and then they let out a steady breath. “Hey, Jet?” they say, voice soft.

He lifts his eyes from their lips to their hazel eyes. They smile at him, eyes crinkling a little around the edges, and Jet feels like he could melt.

They take another sip. Nod once. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

And he knows they’re lying, knows it can’t taste very good at all, but he returns their smile, and he thinks maybe he’s accomplished his goal after all.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for accidentally rickrolling you in party's pov, i didn't even realize i'd done that until my zucchini accused me of rickrolling :/
> 
> ART: https://bluu-ghost.tumblr.com/post/184830651488/enby-partypoison-is-back-at-it-again-and-now-i  
> please look at how sparkly jet is...and party...and feast your eyes upon the Lipstick Boys.....i LOVE this, thank you so much bluu-ghost!! :D
> 
> see you next week!! :)


	14. I Hope You're Ready For a Firefight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party fights.  
> Jet Star stays behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 21! :) i went to seattle this week and saw a bunch of cute girls. i'm gay.
> 
> biiiiiiig thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading! and for MORE ART! check the end notes for a link! ;)
> 
> ENJOY! :D
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: brief misgendering.

For the next three days, the pattern continues. Jet heads out into the desert, Party’s spirit trailing after him, and tries to learn to control his disaster-summoning powers. So far, he’s started no less than three fires, two rainstorms, a miniature sandstorm, brought down yet another meteorite, and, once, created a slight earthquake. Try as they might, he and Kobra can’t seem to find a link between similar disasters; he uses the same vague phrase each time, and, apparently, Kobra can feel his power activate, and it just feels the same each time. Jet can’t help but be disappointed by that, having hoped that he could somehow control what  _ kind _ of disasters he causes.

Still, he seems to be developing some control over the scale of the disasters, and, maybe--he isn’t quite sure about this part--maybe some control over  _ where _ the disasters strike. That could be wishful thinking, though, because there’s really only so much that can feasibly be hit out here, and maybe lightning only struck that particular Joshua tree because it was the tallest one around. He’ll have to work on that some more to be sure.

After he’s finished his training, he heads back home to the diner, sometimes sweating from the heat, sometimes soaked from the rain he’s called--and the storms haven’t been as powerful as that first one, he’s glad to see--and goes to sleep until evening, exhausted.

In the evenings, the four of them do separate things. Ghoul and Kobra work on something in the workshop--building and repairing things to trade, or making weapons and other useful tools, apparently--and Jet and Party...don’t do that.

Party’s still been avoiding Jet, which is driving him  _ crazy, _ because he’d thought they were...well, he’d thought that he and Party were sort of moving toward...something. But maybe not? It’s not like Jet has any experience in...romance, or dating, or whatever.

Growing up in Battery City, he’d had access to BL/ind-sanctioned romantic dramas on TV, all of which focused on a man and a woman, working their high-class BL/ind jobs during the day and coming home to their children who’d spent the day in  BL/ind-run schools and daycares. There were very few dramas that even showed a couple getting together, or dating at all, because most matches were made by Better Living Industries itself, pairing up people who would produce the most useful children. 

And that was all completely different from what Jet’s going through right now, so yeah. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with this. Romance is a complete mystery to him.

Maybe Party’s just very tactile. Well, they  _ are _ tactile, Jet knows this--they hang off Kobra and Ghoul a lot, and even before the whole...whatever that was at Show Pony’s, they seemed to have no qualms about slinging an arm over his shoulders. Or collapsing into his arms. So he  _ knows _ that Party’s touchy with all their friends, but it just...felt different when it was  _ him _ with Party, somehow.

The point is, Jet has no real idea why Party’s avoiding him or if there’s even any actual...like, romantic potential here. And he hates it, but what can he do?

Party’s barely talking to him, Kobra just sighs noisily whenever Jet mentions anything about it (both out loud and in his head), and Ghoul...well, Ghoul seems to find the whole situation hilarious, somehow.

So Jet spends his evenings alone, wandering around the desert near the diner.

He doesn’t go far, not even over to the collection of buildings a couple of miles away which he now knows make up the main hub of this particular rebel stronghold. He just walks around, looks at the stars, and thinks until it gets too cold and he has to go back inside to sleep.

It’s...peaceful. Peaceful in a way he was never able to experience, back in the city. Peaceful in a way he hasn’t even really experienced since coming out here. 

Of course, it’s while he’s out here, laying on his back in the sand and enjoying the brightness of the stars on this moonless night, that Kobra’s suddenly calling him back.

_ ‘Jet!’ _ he thinks to him, urgent.  _ ‘Get back to the diner, there’s a BL/ind raid on its way here!’ _

Jet’s on his feet in an instant, alarms going off in his head. He bolts for the diner, stumbling over a rock in his path but catching himself before he can fall or twist his ankle or something else stupid.

He can feel himself slipping into perfect soldier mode, the calm facade on the outside, expression schooled into blankness, while on the inside, his emotions are a rioting tangle he doesn’t have time to sort through.

Why is BL/ind here? No, scratch that, he  _ knows _ why BL/ind is here, and he curses himself for even daring to let his guard down. They want him back, they want Party back, they want Kobra and Ghoul, they want to destroy the rebels, get rid of everything that isn’t their perfect stark white city of loyal clientele.

He won’t go back.  _ Can’t _ go back, can’t let them hurt his friends.

Kobra, Ghoul, and Party are all standing outside the diner, illuminated only by the scant light coming from the open diner door, when he gets there. “What’s the situation?” he asks, voice as devoid of emotions as his head is full of them.

Kobra’s pulling his helmet on, and so Party answers. “Raidin’ party or somethin’, just a few miles out,” they say, voice taut. “Tryin’ to be sneaky--they don’t usually come out here at night. And they’ve got someone with ‘em who can make things invisible, I think. Or do illusions?”

“Apparition,” Jet says with a nod. “She can project realistic illusions about 50 feet in any direction. Once you realize what you’re looking at isn’t real, you can break out of it. Defeating her should be relatively simple.” Relaying necessary information was an action drilled into him from a young age, when he first started working for BL/ind. It’s easy enough to recall what he knows about her.

Party nods. “Makes sense. Only knew they were there ‘cause I heard the engine noises, honestly. It’s a pretty good illusion, just looks like the desert around ‘em.” They shake their head. “Anyway, I dunno how many there are, ‘cause I couldn’t see anything, but I heard car engines and motorcycles both. That means both Dracs and exterminators, plus at least the one superhero.” 

Ghoul, wearing his monster mask, faces Party and nods once. “We can take ‘em,” he says. “‘Specially if they have to stay grouped real tight together to sneak up on us.” He turns to Kobra. “Are ya ready?”

“Wait,” Party says. They all turn to face them, and Jet sees that their expression is determined. Kobra’s already shaking his head as Party says,  “I’m goin’ with you.”

“You don’t need to,” Kobra says. “You don’t have anythin’ to prove.”

“This--this is  _ not _ about me  _ provin’ _ myself, Kobra!” Party flexes their jaw, folds their arms across their chest. “I wanna help. I wanna do this.”

“If you do fight in the open, everyone’s gonna know about you. They’re gonna know about your  _ powers. _ ” Jet can’t see Kobra’s face through the infamous  _ Good Luck _ helmet, but he can hear the worry in his voice.

“Yeah, well, BL/ind already knows about me. No need to keep me a secret from them now, is there?”

“You can still hide, watch ‘em for any funny business. Don’t need to let the other rebels know about what you can do.”

“Yeah, but...Kobes.” Party takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Kobes. I’m kinda fuckin’ tired of hidin’. I wanna kick ass.”

Ghoul snorts. “Let ‘em come, Kobes,” he says. “Could be fun to see ‘em smash a car over someone’s head or somethin’.”

Kobra shakes his head again, but he says, “Fine. Yeah, Party, you can come. Get your mask, though.”

“What good’s a mask gonna do ‘em?” Ghoul says. “BL/ind already knows who’s got telekinesis out here, and if anyone else sees ‘em, anyway, it won’t be hard to figure out who the redhead hangin’ with Fun Ghoul ‘n’ Kobra Kid is.”

“I’m not usin’ the domino mask,” Party says, and rushes back into the diner.

Jet looks at Ghoul and Kobra. “What are my orders?” he asks. It’s an automatic phrase, something he’s asked countless times.

Ghoul and Kobra don’t say anything, don’t even look at each other, but their silence tells him they’re communicating. Jet feels like he’s going to explode, but he forces himself to appear as calm as possible.

“Jet,” Ghoul says. He takes a step toward him, puts a hand on Jet’s shoulder. “You know we don’t do that shit here.”

Jet stays quiet. He wants to go out and fight the BL/ind agents making their way here, but he doesn’t know what to do yet. So he waits.

“Stay here,” Kobra says, and Jet’s gaze flicks to his visor. “You’re not gettin’ in a firefight with BL/ind if you’re gonna be actin’ like ‘em.”

Jet very carefully does not wince. He’s not acting like  _ them- _ -he’s just trying to appear calm, so that he doesn’t get in trouble when he--

Oh.

_ Oh, _ fuck.

Jet shakes his head, but the motion feels off, feels... _ wrong. _ His head’s still swimming with thoughts and feelings, his arms are still resting motionless at his sides. 

He’s still acting like the BL/ind soldier he once was, and he can’t quite snap himself out of it.

Party reappears then, a helmet...or something of the sort held in their hands. It’s blue, and furry, with big pointed ears and cartoon eyes. It looks like the cartoon character BL/ind puts on all their children’s products, Mousekat, but...altered. More colorful. 

It suits Party, somehow.

They put the Mousekat helmet on and nod to their brother. “I’m ready,” they say, voice muffled. They turn Mousekat’s face toward Jet then. “Are you comin’?” they ask.

Jet shakes his head, still feeling off. “I will remain here,” he says. 

Party’s silent for a moment before turning back to their brother. “We don’t have much time,” they say. “Let’s go.”

Kobra nods and dashes away from the building, Ghoul behind him. Party lingers just a moment. 

“Be safe,” they say, and then they follow Kobra into the darkness.

Jet wants to tell them to be safe, too. He wants to tell them “good luck,” but he can’t bring himself to form the words. He gives them a single, quick nod he knows they don’t see, then spins on his heel and marches into the diner.

 

==========

 

This isn’t the first time Party Poison has fought against BL/ind. They’ve been doing that since the moment they decided they weren’t going to live in that city anymore, a slave to the company. It isn’t the first time they’ve physically fought BL/ind, either. No, they did plenty of that back in Battery City, when they escaped with Jet.

This  _ is _ , however, the first time that Party Poison has marched into battle alongside Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid. It’s the first time they’ve fought beside their brother.

And it’s going  _ swimmingly, _ if the constant stream of curses he’s sending into their brain is anything to go by.

_ ‘Fuck, Party, you can’t just step in there and swing a goddamn  _ motorcycle _ \--’ _

_ ‘It’s cool, bro, I got it!’ _ Party’s standing on top of an overturned car, hands stretched out in front of them as they lift the motorcycle into the air, the Drac falling off of it and vanishing into the darkness as the headlights swerve around them. They twist their body, throwing their weight to one side, and the motorcycle moves the same way, slamming into a group of three Dracs and knocking them off their own motorcycles. Party grins to themself beneath their helmet, letting the motorcycle fall.

And Kobra thought they couldn’t handle themself. Ha!

_ ‘It’s not that,’ _ Kobra tells them, a thread of frustration making its way from his mind to theirs.  _ ‘You’re in the blast zone, Ghoul can’t scream unless you move outta the way!’ _

Party jumps out of the way as one of the exterminators fires on them, several bursts of light in quick succession.  _ ‘Well, where do you want me to go?’ _ they ask, intentionally ignoring the pang in their chest at the thought of being in the way out here. Of making the fight more difficult than it already is.  _ ‘My power doesn’t really work from a distance, and I can’t exactly drop out here to let my ghost roam free!’ _

_ ‘Off to your left. There’s some scrub brush, and it’s dark enough you should be able to hide.’ _

Party grits their teeth, refuses to direct their thoughts at Kobra even though they know he can hear them, anyway. They turn and start sprinting, dodging around another Drac-laden motorcycle. Its single headlight temporarily blinds them, but they don’t let that stop them.

_ Hide, _ he says. Fuck. That’s exactly what Party  _ doesn’t _ want to do. They should’ve just stayed home. Like Jet.

And, okay, maybe thinking about Jet right now isn’t the best idea, because they’ve still been kind of avoiding him, even after all that with the burnt milk and stuff, and thinking about him is kind of distracting.

A laser blast passes by them, close enough to scorch their jeans, and they swear under their breath. They flick their wrist to one side, and the motorcycle behind them swerves suddenly, crashing into a second one.

Behind them, Ghoul lets out a piercing scream, and they hear a crunching sound, metal twisting and breaking. They don’t turn, just keep running, but there’s suddenly a figure standing in front of them, and they’re forced to dig their heels into the sand to avoid crashing into them.

There’s a flash of a headlight from behind Party, lighting the figure up for just a moment. It isn’t someone Party knows, but they’re clearly a rebel, wearing far too many colors to be a part of BL/ind.

They wonder, briefly, why this person would be out here, so close to a firefight, but before they can contemplate further, Party darts forward and grabs their wrist, pulling the rebel along behind them and out of the way. “What are you  _ doing?” _ they hiss, turning to watch the fight. No one seems to have chased them this far. “I know it’s cool to see Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid fightin’, but seriously, it’s fuckin’ dangerous!”

“Is it?” the rebel asks, amusement in their voice. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Party frowns inside their Mousekat helmet and turns to look at them, but thanks to the combination of darkness and the limited visibility provided by said helmet, they can’t make out the rebel’s expression. “Don’t act so cocky,” they spit out, ignoring the nagging feeling that this is probably exactly how Kobra’s been feeling since Party came out to fight.  
Still. At least Party has a power they can use to take care of themself. This kid probably has a ray gun, at _best._

There’s another explosion of sound from the fight, and Party automatically turns to see what Ghoul and Kobra hit this time, but they don’t see anything.

They blink. Shake their head. Still nothing.

The cars are gone, the flames are gone, the headlights, the flashes of ray guns being fired. Everything’s gone, leaving behind nothing but an empty expanse of desert. They can’t even see the lights of the diner or any other buildings, off in the distance.

But--

But Party can still  _ hear _ everything. Shouting, tires screeching, the groaning of metal being crushed.

Everything’s still there, they just can’t  _ see _ it.

_ ‘Kobra,’ _ they think to their brother.  _ ‘Kobes. That superhero Jet mentioned. Did you take her out?’ _

_ ‘No,’ _ Kobra sends back, worry slipping into Party’s mind along with the words.  _ ‘Why? Party, did you find her?’ _

_ ‘I don’t know,’ _ they think,  _ ‘but I can’t see you anymore. Hang on.’ _

This is an illusion.

All they have to do to break it is force themself to see past it, like the three of them had done to the first illusion over the raiding party.

They blink again, concentrate, and the fight comes back into view. Two Dracs are chasing after Kobra and Ghoul, still in the Trans Am, and an exterminator fires on them from their own car. They’re holding up okay.

Something hits Party in the back, and they stumble forward, teeth snapping closed on their tongue. They catch themself and spin around to fight, but there’s no one there. No shapes, no shadows. Just starlit desert.

They spit blood from their mouth, peering through the eye holes of their helmet. “Hello?” they call, not really expecting a reply. The superhero--Apparition?--she’s here. Party flexes their fingers, lifting a rock up off the ground to hover at the ready beside their shoulder, and forces themself to see past this illusion, too.

The rebel flickers into visibility, standing right in front of them, but they’re different now: they almost seem to glow in the scant light, because the colors from before are gone, replaced with a full outfit of white. White boots, white pants, white jacket over a white shirt.

She doesn’t seem to realize that Party can see her now, because she isn’t moving or anything. Just standing there, watching. Sizing them up, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

_ ‘Got a situation, Kobes,’ _ they send.  _ ‘Got Apparition here.’ _

_ ‘Fuck. Think you can handle her? Me and Ghoul got our hands full with all these--gettin’ too close to the diner and all.’ _

_ ‘I got it,’ _ Party thinks back. They feel a rush of something--excitement? Pride? Simple anticipation?--and they leap into action. They flick one finger and the rock shoots away from them, straight at Apparition, but she must see the movement in the darkness because she throws her arm up and ducks, and the rock glances off her shoulder.

“Figured it out quick,  _ Party Poison,” _ she says, and when she straightens up, she’s got a ray gun in hand, shiny white plastic glowing like the rest of her outfit, ethereal in a way that really shouldn’t ever be associated with BL/ind.

There’s not a lot around for Party to work with, no cars for them to throw around, so they send another rock flying toward her at the same time as they launch themself forward.

She fires at them, and Party can’t tell if the shot goes wide or if it’s a near miss, but the important thing is that it doesn’t hit them, and the rock hits  _ her. _

It clips the side of her head, and she stumbles. Party takes the opening and clenches their fist; the ray gun leaps in her grip. Party kicks one of her legs out from under her, and she goes down, the ray gun flying from her hand, and Party grabs it.

She’s kneeling in the dirt now, and Party points the gun at her. Hesitates.

They can’t kill her.

But--

But what else can they do? Injure her? Leave her for BL/ind? They lower the gun just a fraction, and she lets out a laugh.

“Can’t pull the trigger, huh?” she says, baring her teeth in what could never be considered a smile. “You’re worse than Jet Star ever was.” She lashes out, one arm flying out to hit Party in the calf, and they stumble back.

“Fuck you,” they say, regaining their footing and aiming the gun at her again. “Don’t talk about him like that--”

She’s up and on her feet again, and she moves before they can react, driving her elbow into the juncture between their neck and shoulder. Party drops, cursing, and loses their grip on the ray gun. Fuck--they’ve gotta shoot her, doesn’t have to be fatal, just gotta bring her down so she can’t fight anymore--they reach for the gun, but it’s skittered almost to her feet, and she’s reaching for it too, and--

“Stay down,” says a familiar voice, and Party freezes. “I’ll handle her.”

Party whips their head around, wincing at the pain the motion causes, and their eyes land on Jet’s face. “Jet--” they say. “Hang on, wait, I thought you were stayin’ behind.”

He shakes his head, face as stoic as it had been when Party left him behind at the diner. “Got worried,” he says. “Wanted to help.”

“Careful!” Party says, reaching out to him. “She’s got--she’s got a gun.”

“So do I.” And Jet nods, directing Party’s gaze to the shining white ray gun in his own hand, pointed straight at Apparition. The sight of Jet, clutching a BL/ind gun, sets off an alarm in Party’s head, but they don’t have time to analyze it right now. They turn their focus to Apparition, who’s got her own gun trained on Jet.

She snorts derisively. “You don’t honestly think you can take  _ me _ down, do you Jet Star?” she says. “I think we both know who’s got the faster trigger finger, and since you never use your power without someone forcing you, I don’t think I have to worry about anything at all.” She laughs.

Jet steps around Party, not looking at them. “I don’t need my power to kill you,” he says, and Party frowns. Jet’s actually  _ threatening _ her with  _ death? _ That doesn’t seem right, but...well, maybe there’s just bad blood between the two of them.

“You certainly won’t be killing anyone if you don’t fire.” Apparition chuckles. She aims the gun at Party now, who’s still on the ground, and they suck in a breath. “Maybe I’ll just take out Party Poison, hm?”

“No,” Jet bites out, gun still trained on her. “Don’t  _ touch _ him.”

And,  _ oh. _ Suddenly all the out-of-place bits converge together, and Party understands. Because maybe Jet would threaten and point a gun at a homicidal old coworker, but he would never call Party  _ that. _

The illusion breaks then, and Jet vanishes. They blink, grab a rock, and hurl it at Apparition, not even bothering to use their power.

It takes her by surprise this time, somehow, and the rock knocks the gun out of her hand. Party grabs it, aims it at her, and fires it before she can react with anything more than a curse. No hesitation, just action.

The blast hits her in the shoulder, and she grabs at the wound with her free hand. “Fuck,” she says, through gritted teeth, “How did you--”

“Little advice for all you bastards at BL/ind,” Party says. They knock her back to the ground, onto her knees again. “Learn my fucking pronouns.” They make a pulling motion with one hand, and her jacket tears off of her, ripping at the seams.

“What the fuck does that even  _ mean?” _ she snarls. She tries to get up, but Party has a firm grip on her shoulder. They push her back down, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back.

They don’t respond to her. They make another pulling motion with their free hand, and the jacket rips again, becoming several long strips of fabric. They grab the strips and wrap them around her hands and wrists, binding her arms together behind her back.

The makeshift handcuffs hold when Party pulls on them, so they take a few steps back, watching her. “I don’t wanna kill you,” they say. They take a deep breath. “But I will if I need to, so. Since, like, you can’t really fight like this, can you not use your power? The Better Living shitheads’ll find you sooner or later, and this way you can fuckin’, like, plot revenge against me or somethin’ for the next time we meet. Sound good?”

Apparition doesn’t say anything, so Party decides to take that as an affirmative. They send a message to Kobra.  _ ‘Crisis averted. Think I got ‘er under control. Can you keep an eye on her? Or, well--you know what I mean.’ _

_ ‘Kinda busy,’ _ Kobra sends back, feeling strained.  _ ‘If you’re done with her, need you to get back to the diner. Couple Dracs and a car got past us.’ _

Party’s blood runs cold. Fuck.

_ Jet’s in the diner. _

They take off at a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger!! i love this chapter and the next, they were a lot of fun to write!!  
> also got to play with another BL/ind superhero, that's fun. she's an asshole. 8)
> 
> ART: https://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/185001201276/he-finds-them-sitting-on-the-roof-for-some-reason  
> party sittin on the roof being conflicted and brooding!!! i love it!! thank you ace! <3
> 
> also, if you didn't notice, i posted a little bonus scene set about 3 years prior to the beginning of this fic! you can find it in absolutely always gotta be destruction on my profile. :)
> 
> SEE YOU NEXT WEEK!! thanks for reading!! please leave a comment if you enjoyed, i'd love to know your thoughts!! :D


	15. Who Do You Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet Star defends his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 22! Happy Pride Month! :D
> 
> as always, big thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading! ace i owe you my life but you're just going to have to accept my eternal love and devotion instead.  
> also!! thank you to tumblr user jetstairs for ART!! check the end notes for links!! :D
> 
> enjoy the chapter :)

It isn’t until the others have been gone for almost a quarter of an hour that Jet feels like he’s actually coming back to himself.

His insides are calming down, at least a bit, and his posture slips from the stiff way he’d been holding himself, allowing him to slump forward.

He can’t believe he reacted that way. Yes, he knows he’s always acted that way when faced with orders from his superiors back in Battery City, but it had always been--a  _ choice _ to do so. Something he’d done to keep his real feelings hidden, to protect himself from the threat of re-education, or whatever they deemed an appropriate punishment.

But here--Kobra had called him, and he’d just...slipped into it. It hadn’t been a choice. It was automatic, and he doesn’t know  _ why. _

What does it mean? Is it--is it something BL/ind did to him? Something caused by the brainwashing? A...a failsafe, or something, to make sure he obeys them?

In which case, Kobra was absolutely right to make him stay home. If he’d gone out there, who’s to say he wouldn’t have wound up fighting  _ for _ BL/ind?

Which is absolutely terrifying to even contemplate. What if he’s a danger--well, even  _ more _ of a danger--to his friends just by being here? If he could just start fighting for BL/ind at any time….

But, no. He hadn’t had the sudden urge to grab a weapon and turn it on Ghoul, or to use his power against Kobra or anything like that. He’d just...gotten stuck. Somehow.

BL/ind can’t control him anymore. He just needs to work on controlling  _ himself. _

Jet shifts the curtain back, peering out the window at the lights in the distance. He can make out headlight beams and ray gun flashes, flickers he assumes are flames, and he hates the fact that he doesn’t know what’s actually happening out there.

He knows he can probably just think hard enough and  _ ask _ Kobra if everything’s alright, but what if by doing so, he distracts him at just the wrong moment and gets him--or one of the others--hurt or killed?

No. He can’t fight, he can’t talk. It’s best if he just sits here, watching and stewing in his own anxiety.

And keeping his thoughts calm! He’s got to stop thinking about all the horrible things that could be happening to Kobra or Ghoul or--or to Party, all the things BL/ind could be doing to them  _ right now  _ while he sits here, useless!

Fuck.

Jet closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Holds it for a few seconds. Lets it out. Opens his eyes again a moment later, carefully looking at the tabletop instead of out the window.

He has to keep himself calm, keep the adrenaline out of his system, because the last thing he wants is for his friends to come home to the roof collapsed again, or all the windows blown out or something.

There’s a humming in the distance, growing louder. Jet frowns and looks out the window--there are vehicles coming this way, their headlights flickering over the sand and the cacti and the scrub brush.

And, since it’s clearly more than one vehicle, and the fight’s still going on in the distance, it’s definitely not the three of them coming back in their colorful, beat-up old car.

Nope, these are BL/ind vehicles, no doubt carrying BL/ind agents, heading this way.

Fast.

Jet jerks away from the window, letting the curtain fall closed, and surges out of the booth. He looks around quickly, trying to find something to use as a weapon, and his eyes land on Ghoul’s hammer, lying on the kitchen counter.

He grabs it, listening to the sound of the engines drawing closer. His hands are shaking.

He really wasn’t built for a life of fighting, was he?

Jet takes another deep breath to steady himself. The engines are close enough now that he can start to pick out individual sounds--motorcycles, more than one, and at least one car.

Two Draculoids and an exterminator, maybe more.

He swallows. Draculoids alone he could probably handle, but an exterminator….

Jet shakes his head, turns and runs through the building. He’s got to get out of the more open front room, or he’ll be killed or captured immediately. He throws open the door to one of the bedrooms and shuts himself inside. He can’t hide forever, but maybe he can hide long enough to formulate a plan.

He’s in Party’s room, he realizes as he looks around.  _ Party. _ Are they okay? He knows  _ someone’s _ still fighting out there, because he could see the lasers from the ray guns, but three vehicles managed to slip away, and...and, if Party’s down, if Party’s  _ hurt-- _

He grits his teeth, forcing himself not to think about that--and when he feels his jaw tighten, feels himself stiffening up, he forces himself to relax. He has to stay calm. Can’t go into perfect soldier mode, can’t let his powers out.

He looks around the room again, sees the soft shapes of the pillows on Party’s mattress, the piles of clothes and blankets on the floor. Plan, plan...he needs a plan.

The diner door opens, and he can hear footsteps. His grip on the hammer tightens, but his palms are sweating. He needs to stay calm.  
Jet presses against the wall beside the door and raises the hammer. It’s not a great weapon, but it’ll have to work.

“We know you’re in here,” says a voice he’s never heard before. The footsteps are getting closer, far too loud in the silence of the diner. He holds his breath. Waits.

“Come on out so we can kill you,” says a second voice. Two laughs ring out from just the other side of the door.

He hears another door slam open--they must be checking Kobra and Ghoul’s room first.

Jet bites his lip, fighting down the panic he can feel welling up inside him. There’s a pause, some shuffling, and then the door he’s watching swings open, and a figure steps into view.

Jet sees the white suit and jumps into action, bringing the hammer down hard on the Draculoid’s arm.

The Draculoid lets out a shout and drops their ray gun, and Jet brings his leg up and plants his foot in the Draculoid’s groin, shoving them back and into the Draculoid right behind them.

While they’re distracted, Jet drops the hammer and scoops up the discarded gun, facing the doorway again. The Draculoids are steadying themselves now, and one of them rushes him. He thinks it’s the first one, since he doesn’t see a gun in their hands, but he can’t tell for sure.

He sidesteps, and the Draculoid stumbles, feet tangling in one of Party’s blankets and sending them crashing to the floor. The second Draculoid fires their gun at Jet, but thankfully Draculoids aren’t very good shots, so it misses him and strikes the wall behind him instead.

Jet raises his own gun and fires, hitting the Draculoid in the leg. The Draculoid staggers back, cursing, and Jet moves farther into the room, hiding in the shadows and making certain he can see both of them from his position.

The first Draculoid is currently attempting to disentangle themself from the blankets and having great difficulty doing so. Jet isn’t too concerned about that one.

The second Draculoid is standing in the doorway now, though, and they’ve still got that damn gun in their hand.

He doesn’t have to worry long, though, because suddenly there’s a bunch of cans and pots and pans raining down on the Draculoid’s head.

Jet blinks, surprise overriding all his other emotions for a moment, and the hand clutching his gun drops to his side.

He can still hear noises from outside the room, farther away. Rustling, frantic footsteps,  _ voices _ \--but he can’t tell  _ whose _ voices--and he knows at least one of those voices must belong to a Better Living Industries exterminator.

He lifts the gun up again and leaves the room, stepping carefully over the downed Draculoid, laying immobile beneath the pile of cooking instruments.

In the main room of the diner, just inside the door, a white-clad BL/ind exterminator is fighting with none other than Party Poison themself. The exterminator’s back is to him, but he can see the gun in their hand.

A cold feeling spreads throughout Jet’s body, and without really thinking about it, he darts forward and presses the barrel of his ray gun to the exterminator’s back. “Drop the gun,” he says, “and let them go.”

The exterminator doesn’t drop the gun, and instead simply laughs. “Why, if it isn’t Jet Star, the traitor. I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Jet Star can feel himself tensing up, feels like he’s not quite himself, and he fights against that, struggling to remain calm and clear-headed. “Collier,” he manages to bite out.

Party’s still wearing their Mousekat helmet, and he can’t see their expression. Doesn’t know what they’re thinking. They aren’t moving, simply standing there, and he hopes they’re just waiting for an opening to attack, because he really doesn’t want to kill Agent Collier--doesn’t know if he  _ can-- _ and he doesn’t know how long he can distract her. Or if he even  _ can _ distract her, because she’s still holding her gun, still aiming it at Party.

Collier rolls her shoulders. “Jet Star,” she says again. “ _ This _ is what you left the city for?” She waves her free hand around, gesturing to the room they’re standing in. “A decrepit old  _ restaurant _ and a group of supervillains dressed as  _ cartoon characters?” _

Jet sucks in a breath, presses the gun harder into her back. His finger isn’t even close to the trigger. “I left the city to keep people safe,” he says, and his voice sounds far too steady.

“Are you an idiot, Jet Star?” Collier says. “You’re a  _ superhero. _ Well,  _ were _ a superhero. Your job in the city  _ was _ to keep people safe!”

“My job was to do what I was told,” he says, keeping his eyes on the gun in her hand. If he can grab it, get it away from her…. “My job was to blindly follow orders, never stop and consider whether they were right or wrong. My job was to  _ hurt _ people, because BL/ind decided they weren’t suitable consumers anymore!”

“Have they  _ brainwashed _ you out here, Jet Star? BL/ind always has the best interests of the citizens at heart!”

“You know that’s not true,” Jet says, and he’s shaking, the gun trembling in his grip. He reaches up with his free hand, shifting in increments, reaching for the gun in her own hand. “You know who’s really doing the brainwashing, and it isn’t the rebels.”

She snorts. “You’re serious,” she says, and she honestly sounds incredulous. “Well, I don’t think I have anything more to discuss with a traitor who can’t even hold a gun right, so if you’ll excuse me--” Collier moves quickly, her elbow shooting back and driving hard into Jet’s stomach, at the same time as her foot slams into his shin.

All the air seems to leave Jet in one painful burst, and he feels suddenly faint. He can feel himself start to collapse, and he forces himself to fall forward rather than back, his full weight slamming into Collier and knocking them both to the floor. His gun slips from his grip and skitters across the floor, and he hears the shot leave her own gun before they hit the ground, but he can’t move, can’t speak, doesn’t know if Party’s  _ okay-- _

But they’re there suddenly, crouched beside him with a coil of rope held in their grip. “Jet,” they say, voice muffled. “I need you to move, okay? I’ve gotta tie her up.”

They’re okay. Jet’s still trying to catch his breath, so he just rolls off of Collier and lays on the floor while Party secures her wrists to her ankles behind her back, and apparently ties a gag around her mouth, if the way her curses and threats suddenly cut off is any indication.

As soon as he feels he can, Jet sits up, turning to look at Party. There’s a hole through one ear of their helmet, clearly from a laser, and can’t remember if it was there earlier, or if it was from Collier’s gun. “You’re okay,” he says, wheezing. “I’m so glad.”

The Mousekat helmet turns toward him. “Jet,” he hears them say. There’s a pause, and it feels heavy, somehow. Then, Party continues, “That  _ is _ you, right?”

“I--yes?” Jet frowns. “Who else would I--oh!” He’d almost forgotten about Apparition’s presence in the desert. “Fuck, did you--Apparition--”

“I fought her,” Party says. They finish off a knot around Collier’s wrists and stand up. “She’s taken care of. She--almost got me, though.”

Jet swallows, and he isn’t shaking anymore, but he still feels...apprehensive. “But you’re okay,” he says, “right? You’re alright. And, Kobra, Ghoul--”

“We’re all good, Jet,” Party says. They gesture to Collier. “Uh--maybe we shouldn’t talk too much while we got company.”

“Right. Oh--shit!” Jet bolts to his feet, wincing as his internal organs protest. “There’s--a Draculoid. In your bedroom.”

Party’s quiet for a moment. “Huh,” they say. “Didn’t think I got  _ that _ drunk last night.”

“Wh--” Jet shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you have more rope?”

Party waves a hand, and a length of rope flies over to them from someplace. They hand it over to him. “I’ll take care of, uh, her,” they say.

Jet nods and takes the rope, makes his way back to Party’s room. The Draculoid in the hall hasn’t moved, so he steps around them and through the doorway.

The Draculoid is even more tangled in the blankets than before. Why do the execs still insist on using them to fight? The masks strip people of their individuality, of their own thoughts, of everything. They don’t exactly have very good problem-solving skills after all that.

If he thinks about it enough, thinks about it from  _ their _ perspective, it makes sense; turning dangerous enemies, those for whom the re-education process doesn't properly work, into unthinking slaves is a good use of assets.

That doesn’t stop his stomach from turning at the idea.

Jet extracts the Draculoid from the blankets, carefully doesn’t wonder about who they once were, and ties their arms behind their back.

He and Party maneuver the Draculoids and the exterminator outside of the diner and beneath the awning of the carport, to wait until they can drop them off in the desert for BL/ind to “rescue.” Jet looks into the distance and can still see lights, albeit fewer than before.

“They’re still okay?” he asks, and Party nods.

“I’m sure,” they say. He doesn’t ask whether they’ve communicated with Kobra, or if they’re just saying that to reassure him, because BL/ind doesn’t know about Kobra’s telepathic abilities, and he’s pretty sure that’s a secret they all want kept.

He nods to Party, and they go back inside. Party takes off their helmet and shakes their head, strings of red hair sticking to their forehead and sticking out from their head like a sunburst. They let out a deep sigh, dropping the helmet on the floor and raking their fingers through their hair, neatening it. ”How the hell does Kobra  _ deal _ with these things all the time? Fuckin’  _ sucks. _ Hot, can’t see, can’t  _ breathe. _ What the fuck?”

Jet snickers, and they shoot him a look. “Sorry, sorry,” he says with a grin. “Just. A Mousekat helmet. Really?”

Party rolls their eyes. “I  _ like _ Mousekat, okay?” they say. “Like, yeah, it’s a BL/ind thing, and technically propaganda, but it’s also fuckin’  _ cute, _ so shut the fuck up. Anyway, I modified this thing enough that it’s pretty clearly not  _ theirs _ anymore, ya know?”

Jet shrugs, sitting in one of the diner booths. “Makes sense to me,” he says. “So. While we wait for Ghoul and your brother...what were you saying earlier? About Apparition? Or--about your fight?”

Party slides into the seat across from him. “Yeah. Well. I took her down,” they say.

Jet grins. “That’s great! She...she can make some pretty realistic stuff, huh?” Jet knows that for a fact, having been on the receiving end of her power more than once. He closes his eyes, feeling the grin slip from his face, and shakes his head. His mind is suddenly filled with images from the last time he’d seen Apparition--green grass, red blood, his father’s hands--

“Uh, yeah. She actually did a pretty good illusion of you for a bit, too,” Party says, and Jet’s jolted out of his memories, looking up sharply. Party’s looking down at the table, their fingers drumming out a rhythm on the wooden surface.

“Me?” he asks. “Why me?”

Party shrugs. “I dunno. Guess she must’ve known that I--” they cut themself off, picking up a discarded spoon that had been resting on the tabletop and toying with it. “Uh, well. You know. Everyone knows you escaped with me. So they must know we’re on the same team. I guess.”

It makes sense. Collier had called him a traitor, accused him of joining the “supervillains.” The Better Living execs must have briefed the agents on at least some of the details. He wonders if they’re supposed to capture him or just kill him. He shakes his head, returning to the matter at hand. “Anyway. You knew it wasn’t me, I guess. You figured out it was an illusion. I...hope she didn’t torment you too much.” There they are again--flashes of those images Apparition had forced on him. His father’s hands, a knife, so much blood…. 

He takes a deep breath, clenching his hand into a fist on his knee. The images vanish back into his memories. Who knows what Apparition had made Party see? What had the false Jet she’d conjured said?  _ Done? _

“Torment--? Oh.” Party’s watching him now, concern visible in the tilt of their eyebrows, the set of their mouth. Jet blinks, his eyes skipping from theirs to the freckles dotting their cheeks.  “No, she didn’t--nothing horrible,” Party continues. “She just made me think you’d come out to help me fight, but she was actually tryin’ to shoot me while I was distracted, ya know?”

That’s a relief, at least. Party won’t have nightmares about it, then. Hopefully. Jet would hate to feature in their nightmares. “So how’d you figure out it wasn’t me?” It isn’t really important for him to know, but he’s...curious. His eyes lift back up to meet Party’s, and as soon as their gazes have locked, Party’s looking away again, gazing at the spoon in their hand.

“It’s--well. I mean, it was pretty easy. She called me ‘him,’ and I was like, ‘shit, that ain’t Jet,’ and the illusion was gone, and then I beaned her with a rock and that was that.”

“Oh.” He blinks, falling silent. He hadn’t actually thought of that--that all the BL/ind agents think of Party as, well, as a man, and don’t know the truth. Had actually, somehow, forgotten that most people--at least, most people in Battery City--would see Party as something they aren’t. And the thought that Party knew it wasn’t Jet, because they know he wouldn’t call them something that made them uncomfortable or upset, no matter the circumstances, that they trust him with that, it...well. It makes him really happy.

He grins at them, but they still aren’t looking at him. “Well,” he says. “I’m glad she couldn’t trick you.”

Party’s eyes dart back over to his, and he sees them relax a bit and shoot a little smile his way. The sight makes him relax more, too, and that happy, fluttery feeling in his chest comes back. Their eyes are so pretty. Do they know how pretty their eyes are? He hopes so. 

They’re both silent for a few moments, and then Party asks, “Um. So, why did you stay behind earlier? I mean--it’s fine, you know I don’t usually fight with ‘em and all that, but...you were just...actin’ kinda weird.”

Jet shifts in his seat. He hadn’t been expecting this question, but he supposes he should have. Still. He’s not entirely sure how to answer. He clears his throat. “Your brother told me to stay behind,” he begins.

“What?” Party wrinkles their nose, their face scrunching up and their lips pursing slightly. “Why’d he do that? I mean, I get why he wanted  _ me _ to stay behind, but….”

“Well…” Jet sighs. He was thinking about it earlier, so now he just has to figure out how to...put it into words. So that Party can understand. “You said it yourself that I was acting weird. It’s...I don’t know what to call it. But when I was in Battery City, I had to...you know. Pretend a lot.” He bites his lower lip, looks out the window again. “Pretend to be one of them, pretend to...obey their orders. Pretend to be a soldier.” He shrugs, rakes his fingers through his hair. “And, I guess, when Kobra said BL/ind was coming, I sort of...slipped back into that. The soldier mindset.”

He’s not looking at Party, so he doesn’t see if or how their expression changes, but he hears their sharp intake of breath, their soft “Oh, shit.”

He keeps talking. “I don’t--it’s weird. It used to be a choice, something I did to protect myself. But this time--it just  _ happened.” _ He clears his throat, looks down at the table. “It’s probably a good thing I didn’t go out there, because...well, who knows what might have happened?”

“Well, yeah, but you wouldn’t have, like, attacked  _ us _ or anything, right?”

“I don’t know,” Jet answers honestly. “I don’t think I would, because the whole...reason I started acting like that, back in the city, was so I  _ wouldn’t _ hurt anyone, and so I wouldn’t be hurt, either. But I couldn’t control it this time. I wasn’t in control. So...I don’t know.”

There’s another silence, tense and uncomfortable, and Jet starts fidgeting, opening and closing his fist on his knee. After a bit, Party says, “So...it’s just a question of control, right?”

He glances up at them, and they’re watching him thoughtfully, eyes wide and head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Um,” he says, hand opening and laying flat on his knee. “I...I guess so?”

“Then it’s the same as with your power, right? You just need to be in control of yourself, and you’ll be fine.” They smile at him, reach across the table and place their hand, palm up, between them. “And we’re gonna help you. Yeah?”

Jet doesn’t even think about it, reaching over and placing his own hand in Party’s. They squeeze his fingers, intertwine them. “I don’t know if it’s exactly the same,” he says. “But I want to help you. I want to fight against BL/ind, and I can’t do that if I don’t have complete control over...myself, and my power.” He closes his eyes, reveling at the feeling of his hand in Party’s. It’s like all his stress has melted away, somehow. “So I guess...I just have to train harder.”

“Then we’ll start tomorrow,” Party says, and the two of them sit together in comfortable silence until Kobra and Ghoul come back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghoul's hammer hurts dracs instead of party's toes for once. :') HEY DID YOU GUYS KNOW I ADORE HAND-HOLDING AS A FORM OF AFFECTION??
> 
> ART: http://jetstairs.tumblr.com/post/185187430857 AND http://jetstairs.tumblr.com/post/185188404647  
> check it out!! they drew a couple scenes from last chapter + a design for Apparition!! thank you so much!!! <3
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd love to hear from you! you can leave a comment here or on my tumblr, http://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> thanks for reading!! see you next week ;) ;*


	16. Kiss Me You Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deadly sandstorm.  
> A conversation in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 23! :D
> 
> HUGE thank you this week to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading! they really pushed me to make the final scene of this chapter as satisfying as i could, and i'm SO grateful!! love you ace!! <3  
> also, big thank you AGAIN this week to tumblr user jetstairs for more art! check the end notes for a link! :D
> 
> enjoy this chapter ;)

Kobra’s feeling kind of lonely, which is stupid because he’s currently conversing with both Party and Jet, but to be fair they’re both a few miles out in the desert, and he’s sitting alone in the diner.

Ghoul’s out working on the car, which, besides the broken windows from Party’s run-in with BL/ind, had also gotten pretty banged up in the raid last week. And, sure, Kobra can absolutely have a conversation with Ghoul right now if he wants to--can sense Ghoul’s mind without even trying--but it’s difficult enough to concentrate on all the details he’s supposed to be focusing on as it is, and adding another, completely unrelated conversation to the mix would be stupid as hell.

Anyway, talking to Ghoul from afar just isn’t as nice as sitting beside him and wrapping his arm around his shoulders or carding his fingers through his hair.

Kobra sends a little thread of his loneliness to Ghoul, and Ghoul replies with an image of what he’s currently looking at: the undercarriage of the Trans Am, tools and bits of machinery scattered around him, hands coated in grease. 

Kobra sends him a wordless plea for company. Ghoul sends him an actual thought:  _ ‘Kobes, I’m busy!  _ You’re  _ busy! You can survive another hour without me.’ _

Actually, Kobra’s not completely sure if that’s true or not. He really wants a kiss right now. He sends a request to his boyfriend, but just gets an image of a middle finger and a feeling of fond amusement in return, so Kobra just sighs to himself. 

_ ‘Okay, he’s got the fire put out,’ _ Party sends to him.  _ ‘It didn’t get too far, but I think we’ll have to find him a new place to train soon if he’s gonna burn down all the plants in the area.’ _

Kobra reluctantly shifts his attention back to what he’s supposed to be doing: helping Jet train.  _ ‘Yeah, well, hopefully he won’t have to train so far out much longer.’ _

He focuses on Jet.  _ ‘Next time you start a fire, I want you to try and create a rainstorm to put it out,’ _ he sends. Jet still can’t really control what disasters he creates when he uses his power, but Kobra knows there  _ must _ be a way for him to do so.

_ ‘I’ll try,’ _ Jet thinks to him.  _ ‘It’s getting pretty hot out here. Think I’m just gonna do one more before I head back.’ _

_ ‘Sounds good.’ _ It’s been a week since the BL/ind nighttime raid, and Jet’s been really focused on getting better and controlling his power, which Kobra’s grateful for. He seems to be able to minimize the disasters now, which isn’t as useful as being able to actually make specific things happen, but it’s still a very good step in the right direction. He can also more or less aim where the disasters strike--not with 100% accuracy, but definitely better than the randomness that had been the norm before.

And, though it only happened once yesterday, Kobra had also felt Jet actually  _ shut down _ a disaster: he’d created a small rainstorm and, after only a few minutes, had simply  _ wished _ it away. Now  _ that _ was a  _ big _ step in the right direction.

And, thinking about all that gives Kobra an idea.  _ ‘This time,’ _ he sends,  _ ‘I want you to try and make something big.’ _

He picks up both fear and confusion from Jet, along with a series of thoughts not aimed at him specifically:  _ ‘No, I just figured out how to make them smaller, who knows what will happen if I make them bigger, what if I start a huge fire or another flood or something and I can’t stop it and it just gets out of control, how am I supposed to deal with--’ _

_ ‘Jet,’ _ Kobra thinks to him, cutting off his stream of thoughts before he can make himself anxious again,  _ ‘We know you can make the disasters smaller. You want complete control over your power, right?’ _

_ ‘Of course I do.’ _

_ ‘Then you need to be able to make the disasters bigger, too.’ _ It’s dangerous, sure, but it has to be done. Jet will never feel confident with his power unless he knows exactly what he can do, and how to do it. When he had helped Ghoul with his power, they’d been through much the same thing: Ghoul learned how to minimize the damage his voice could do, but until he learned how to  _ maximize _ that damage, he’d still been afraid to speak much and potentially unleash his power.  _ ‘You’ll be fine, Jet.’ _

_ ‘But if I make it too big, and I can’t shut it off--’ _

_ ‘You’ll be  _ fine _ , Jet.’ _

_ ‘But what about--’ _

‘We’ll _ be fine, Jet. Me, Ghoul, Party, all the other rebels. We’ll be  _ fine.’ Oh, and that’s a thought--if Kobra can’t snuggle Ghoul right now, maybe he’ll just….

_ ‘Hey, Party,’ _ he thinks to his sibling while Jet deliberates,  _ ‘I’m gonna go cuddle with your body.’ _

_ ‘Uh, sure, I guess, but could you please somehow word it so it doesn’t sound like you’re implying that I’m dead?’ _

_ ‘I mean, you’re technically a ghost right now, so.’ _ Kobra gets up and heads into Party’s room, blinking as his eyes adjust to the darkness.  _ ‘Yuck, your lifeless corpse looks gross. Clammy.’ _

_ ‘Fuck you! You’re not allowed to cuddle with me while I’m not there now. It’s forbidden. I  _ forbid _ it!’ _

Kobra moves into the room and sits on the edge of Party’s mattress, looking down at his sibling’s sleeping face.  _ ‘You know, I never actually notice you go to shower, but your hair is always so fucking soft.’ _ He reaches out and combs his fingers through Party’s hair, partially because he actually really does want to snuggle someone right now, but mostly just to be an asshole.

_ ‘Don’t touch my hair! God, go pet Ghoul’s hair or somethin’, Kobes!’ _

_ ‘Can’t. He’s busy. I’m so lonely, Party.’ _

Jet’s thinking at him again, before he can continue his conversation with Party.  _ ‘Okay. Kobra? I’m gonna try and do something big. Are you ready?’ _

_ ‘Gimme a second,’  _ Kobra sends back. Then, to Party, he thinks,  _ ‘Jet’s gonna try and do a big disaster. Get ready, watch for danger. Got it?’ _

_ ‘Fuck, seriously? Yeah, I’ll watch out for him. Ready, Kobes.’ _

Kobra closes his eyes, focusing on Jet and all the thoughts and emotions swirling around in Jet’s head right now. Fear, nervousness, determination.  _ ‘Alright, when you’re ready,’ _ he thinks to him.

_ ‘Here goes nothing,’ _ Jet thinks, and Kobra feels that little spike that means his power’s activated.

It feels stronger this time, more noticeable. 

Sharper, somehow.

 

\----------

 

Party’s watching Jet from above, as always, and jokingly arguing with their brother, as usual, and they’ve decided it’s a routine they very much enjoy.

It’s been a week since the firefight with BL/ind, a week since their little heart-to-heart with Jet. And so, Party’s had an entire seven days to reflect on their feelings for Jet, and on what they want out of a relationship with Jet, and what  _ they _ can offer  _ Jet _ in a relationship, and basically Party’s just been thinking about Jet a whole hell of a lot.

They still haven’t been spending a lot of time alone with him, though, because...well. They’re honestly still pretty apprehensive about this whole...thing.

And Kobra says they’re being stupid, and Party sort of happens to agree, because yeah, maybe all their past relationships ended by going up in flames, but Jet’s not like any of the people they’ve liked before, and the way they feel about Jet is  _ different _ from how they’ve felt about any of those people, and that’s...kind of why they’ve been a little freaked out.

Party went through slightly different variations of the same courtship ritual with all their exes: going from crushing on them, to trying to impress them, to successfully wooing them, to dating, and then ending in a break-up that usually boiled down to the two of them wanting completely different things in a relationship and someone getting their feelings hurt. Usually that person was Party, but it wasn’t always, and either way all of their relationships thus far had led to Party wallowing in self-pity for way too long. And, honestly, Party doesn’t want to go through any of that shit again!

But Jet’s different. How they  _ feel _ about Jet is different. Sure, Party’s absolutely been crushing on Jet--probably since they saw him for the first time in Battery City, honestly--and they still want to impress him, but...they don’t feel the need to do anything over-the-top to prove to him how amazing they are, like skating in high-heeled boots or crashing motorcycles into sand dunes or that time they got a cactus stuck to their tongue (which Party’s going to stop thinking about right now,  _ god, _ why are they constantly embarrassing themself). With Jet, they kind of just want to... _ be. _

Okay, well, they actually really wanna kiss the hell out of him and run their fingers through his hair and honestly just get their hands like  _ all _ over him, because he’s fucking gorgeous, but that’s all just part of  _ being _ with him, not like...the  _ goal. _

And that’s sort of scary for Party! They aren’t used to this feeling! They don’t know how to handle it!

But they’re  _ going _ to handle it. Properly. ...Hopefully. Somehow. They’ve been planning out a conversation with Jet on the subject, involving a lot of talking about feelings and possible relationships and stuff like that, and they figure this evening will be a pretty good time to bring it up.

They can’t think about that for long, though, because Jet’s about to try and unleash a mega-disaster or something, and they’ve gotta watch his back.

It’s kind of hard to not stare at Jet while they’re out here alone, where no one can judge them for their gaze lingering on Jet’s eyes or his lips or his arms or his ass or whatever--well, Kobes is constantly judging them, but he doesn’t count. He’s always judging them for everything. And, anyway, he’s mostly distracted by Jet right now, so they can  _ actually _ stare at Jet without judgement, but they actually  _ can’t _ because they have to watch out for danger instead.

And they’re not going to shirk that duty, of course, because they want Jet to be safe, but it’s really unfair that they have to do that at the only time they  _ could _ be checking him out judgement-free!

Oh, well. Assuming things go well today, they’ll be able to stare at Jet as much as they want. And kiss him. And maybe run their fingers over his tummy and follow that  _ delightful _ treasure trail down and see where, exactly,  _ that _ leads.

Anyway.

While Party’s outside of their body, they can hear and see things just like when they’re  _ inside _ their body, or when they’re like, spiritually present in their physical body, or however that should be phrased--whatever. The point is, Party can hear and see things in their spirit form, but they can’t touch or feel anything. This is sometimes annoying, because maybe Party or Kobra or Ghoul wants to know how hot it is outside without actually going outside, and if Party could feel things in spirit form, like temperatures, they could just pop out of their body and check it out and then pop back in and let everyone know.

That’s not actually all that annoying, because Party doesn’t want to be a human thermometer, but anyway. Sometimes it’s annoying, but mostly it’s pretty great, because they can pass through walls and not have to deal with the heat and they won’t, like, die or get hurt or whatever when actual fucking meteors hit them. 

And so, when Jet’s power activates, this is definitely one of those times when Party’s glad they can’t feel things without their actual body.

It starts out with just a little wind. Party can’t feel the wind, obviously, but they can see the branches of the Joshua trees and the scrub brush waving, can see the movement of Jet’s short curls and the way his jacket flaps, hear the sound of it whistling through the rocks off in the distance.

The wind picks up quickly, whipping Jet’s clothes around him and breaking branches off the trees, picking up dust and sand and flinging it around. Jet brings his arms up to shield his face, and though Party’s not very far away at all, there’s suddenly a wall of sand between them, almost completely obscuring him from view.

_ ‘Sandstorm,’ _ they send to Kobra, moving closer to Jet.  _ ‘Looks worse than usual. Fuck--it’s gettin’ real bad.’ _

_ ‘He can’t shut it down,’ _ Kobra sends back.  _ ‘He’s trying, I can feel the usual spark that means his power’s activating, but it isn’t shutting the storm off, and it’s spreading out from his location--it’s almost here. Fuck!’ _

_ ‘Kobra?’  _ Party’s fighting back panic now, watching as Jet ducks down, arms still over his face. The wind’s only growing stronger, picking up more and more sand as it does so. It’s almost pitch black here, in the middle of the sandstorm. Jet’s in danger if he’s out here too long. 

_ ‘Kobes!’ _ they try again, pushing themself up and up and up until they’re out of the cloud of sand and dust.  _ ‘I’m gonna find shelter for Jet! Is everything okay over there?’ _

_ ‘Yeah, go, there should be a cave not too far away--everything’s okay, Ghoul and me’re inside, door’s locked and all that. We’re not gonna be able to come get him, though, the storm’s too dangerous. Gotta get Jet somewhere he can wait it out!’ _

Party knows the cave Kobra’s talking about, and knows about where it should be. They fly over the cloud a little farther and then dive down, back into it, searching. Time is of the essence, because Jet’s out there without any protection except a fucking jacket!

They can’t find the entrance to the cave. Fuck! Where is it? It should be just near these rocks, but there’s nothing, Party can’t fucking find it!

They take a gamble and just throw themself down through the dirt and into the ground, ignoring how much darker it is than even the sandstorm had been. 

It’s only a few feet down that they find themself in an open cavern, a natural formation Ghoul had discovered a while back, and shown to them and Kobra a few years ago. The rebels used to use it to store stolen goods or to hide when BL/ind came out on a raid, but these days it mostly gets used to store extra water, or, more often than not, it just lays empty. Like now.

Once Party’s inside, it’s easy enough to trace the path to the entrance, and they push themself as fast as they can, navigating the few twists and turns of the tunnel with practiced ease until they find the entrance, which is currently blocked with sand. Fuck--that’s gonna make it harder for Jet to get in. The sand doesn’t seem to be too thick, though, so Party’s pretty sure that as long as they can guide Jet over here, he’ll be able to dig his way through and into the shelter of the cave.

Party emerges back out into the sandstorm and promptly realizes that they’ve lost Jet.

Shit. This isn’t something they can ask Kobra for help with, because Kobra can’t see or hear either of them, has no idea where they are in relation to each other.

If they go up, they can probably find the center of the storm and find Jet there, but then will they be able to guide him back here? Or, if they just fly off in the direction Party  _ thinks _ they came from, and keeps careful tabs on where they’re going, will they even be able to  _ find _ him in order to lead him back here?

Fuck. Up it is.

And so up they fly once more. It isn’t difficult to locate the center of the sandstorm, because the whole thing is shaped more like a vortex than anything else, and the farther into the storm they go, searching for Jet, the more panicked they become, because it’s fucking dark and they can’t see anything, and how’s  _ Jet _ going to see anything and be able to follow Party’s directions if he can’t even open his fucking eyes?

But there’s Jet, laying where Party left him. And they’ve got to try and get him to that cave.  _ ‘Kobra,’ _ they think,  _ ‘Help me relay the directions to Jet! It’s fuckin’ dangerous out here, we gotta move!’ _

_ ‘On it.’ _

A second later, Jet’s struggling to his feet, head ducked down. He pulls the collar of his jacket up, covering the exposed skin on the back of his neck, and pulls his arms farther into his sleeves. When Party looks closer, hovering mere inches from Jet’s face, they see that he’s pulled the collar of his shirt up as well, over his face to act as a filter for the dust in the air. They figure Kobra must have given him the instructions.

Party thinks for a moment, and then flies back up out of the cloud. They look around, getting their bearings, and then dive right back in.  _ ‘Tell him to walk forward,’ _ they think to Kobra.  _ ‘And to keep going forward until you say otherwise.’ _

There’s a pause, and then Jet starts moving, struggling against the force of the wind. He takes slow, small steps, and Party curses. There’s nothing they can do to help him, though, nothing except guide him as best as they can.

And that’s what they do: watch Jet move through the thick cloud of sand, periodically flying up to check his course and correct his direction. That’s all they do, that’s all they  _ can _ do, and it fucking sucks!

But eventually, Jet makes it to the cave, and he digs his way through the sand, and he practically falls into the cave. Party follows him inside, and the noise of the sandstorm dies down, growing quieter and quieter the deeper Jet goes.

Once he finds the open cavern, Jet collapses against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cool stone floor and yanking his shirt away from his mouth to cough. He sits there for a few minutes, panting and trying to catch his breath, and then he says, “Party?”

Party flies closer, peering at him. There’s sand in his hair, and little cuts on his face, lacerations from the sand around his eyes and forehead, the only part of his skin that had been uncovered. 

After a moment, he continues, “Thank you. Thank--fuck.” He coughs again, a dry, hacking sound, and pulls his knees up, buries his face in his legs. “Thank you,” he says again, voice muffled by the fabric of his jeans.

He looks so small here, in the darkness of this cave, cold stone all around him. He doesn’t look up again, just holding onto his legs, and Party can see his shoulders shaking.

And there’s nothing Party can do to help him, because they’re a goddamn  _ ghost _ right now. They can’t hold him, or talk to him, or even just--give him proper gear and take him home! 

And that’s all Party wants to do. To help Jet. To make him feel better. To make sure he’s safe.

That’s really all they want.

 

\----------

 

Jet’s tired.

He’s tired, and his face stings, and his throat and lungs both hurt a little every time he takes a breath. It isn’t the first time he’s been in a sandstorm, but this is by far the worst one. Even the sandstorm Kobra and Ghoul had started, back when he was still a BL/ind superhero, wasn’t as big and dark as this one.

And he isn’t blaming himself, this time. He’s still worried, of course, that the sandstorm he created will hurt someone, or damage something important to some rebel just trying to survive, but he isn’t  _ blaming _ himself for that possibility.

When the storm started, he tried to shut it down, like he’d done with that rain storm yesterday, but it hadn’t worked. He tries it again now: concentrating on the storm, on the way he’d felt when the storm started, thinks,  _ ‘This is unnecessary. It needs to stop.’ _

Nothing happens, just like the previous twenty times he’s tried it. Jet sighs, buries his face in his knees again, winces as a few grains of sand scrape against one of the cuts on his forehead.  _ ‘Is everything still okay over there?’ _ he thinks to Kobra.

_ ‘Just as safe as the last few times you asked,’  _ Kobra sends back.  _ ‘The storm’s pretty bad, but it’s basically just the loss of visibility that makes it dangerous for us. The diner’ll hold up fine. Just hang tight, Jet. Not much longer, now’ _

Jet sighs, shifting and trying to get comfortable against the rough, cold stone wall. Jet’s been in here for about an hour at this point, and he’s glad to hear that the others are safe, but he just...he feels really alone.

He’s alone in a cold cave, trapped by a sandstorm. When he lived in Battery City, he never would have imagined that this would ever be a part of his life. Even when he allowed himself to imagine living out here in the desert, joining the rebels, he’d imagined hot days spent with the sun shining down on him, imagined fighting against BL/ind, side-by-side with colorful people.

And, while he’s obviously experienced most of that, it’s so dark down here in this cave, and he feels so  _ alone, _ that he’s reminded of being back in the Better Living Industries headquarters, alone in his assigned room, the lights off and the window locked shut, staring up into the darkness and just...wishing for someone. Feeling so  _ alone, _ and wishing for...a friend, a companion, family--thinking about his father, thinking about the few kids he used to spend time with in school, thinking about the one friend he’d had in BL/ind when he first started, who’d been arrested for treason less than a year later. 

He’s been alone for so long. Everyone’s always been pried out of his life, one way or another. And this is so stupid to think about right now, because it isn’t helping anything, it doesn’t have anything to  _ do _ with anything right now, but. But he’s alone, and it’s where his thoughts drift, and he’s thinking about Party.

Party, who’s so different from everyone he’s ever known, and in the best possible ways. Party, who he’s inexplicably drawn to. Party, who he doesn’t want to lose.

Party, who’s probably here right now, watching Jet break down over nothing.

He sits up, lifts his head. He opens his mouth to say something, address the air in some way, whether to apologize to Party or distract them or something else, he isn’t sure, but then he hears--

“Jet!”

Jet blinks, whips his head around toward the sound--because that’s definitely an actual voice, not just Kobra in his mind--and though it’s dark, he can see the silhouette of a person, someone with a big head and pointed ears.

“Party?” he asks tentatively, because who else could it be? But, unless Jet’s suddenly gained the ability to see Party’s spirit when they’re astral projecting (and he’s pretty sure that’s impossible, and even if it was, he doubts Party would be wearing their Mousekat helmet in spirit form), the fact that Party’s actually,  _ physically _ , here, just...doesn’t make sense. “What--why are you here?”

Party walks closer, reaches up and pulls their helmet off. They tuck it under their arm, shake their hair out. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” they ask.

Jet stands up, facing them. “I--” he coughs, pressing a hand against the stone wall as he does so, and when he opens his eyes, Party’s thrusting a canteen at him.

“Fuck, Jet, you gotta remember to bring water with you when you come out here to train,” they say as he takes it from them. “This is the goddamn  _ desert!” _

Jet takes a long drink, washing out the dust that had been coating his throat. “Thanks,” he croaks. Clears his throat. “But, seriously--it’s dangerous out there. Why did you come?”

“What, like I was gonna leave you alone out here?” Party swings a bag down from their shoulders, drops it and their helmet on the ground, and sits down on the floor, back against the wall of the cave. They gesture to the open space beside them, and Jet sits back down, a scant few inches between them.

“It’s not like--I mean, I was fine. You didn’t need to take the risk.” Because, while Jet has to admit he’s glad to have Party here--glad to have  _ anyone _ here, but especially Party--there’s a  _ huge sandstorm _ going on outside, and Party had to have walked through it for  _ miles _ to get here!

“You weren’t fine,” Party says. They reach over and put their hand on his knee, squeeze gently, and Jet feels his breath catch. “You’re not blaming yourself again, right? Because I promise, everyone’ll be fine. We’ve all dealt with sandstorms before, everyone out here knows what to do, how to buckle down.”

Jet shakes his head. “I’m not--no. I don’t blame myself, I know I have to do things like this to get my power under control.” 

“Then what’s got you so upset, Jet?”

He looks over at them, studying their expression as best he can in the darkness. They look thoughtful, concerned, eyes wide and mouth tilted downward as they watch him. If Party doesn’t know  _ why _ he’s upset, then he can assume Party didn’t get their information from Kobra, which means they  _ did _ see him panicking, and came out here to calm him down.

It should be embarrassing, being seen like that, but because it’s Party, he doesn’t mind. He lets himself relax a bit, closing those few inches of space between them to lean his head against Party’s shoulder. “It’s dark,” he says. “And I’m--and I  _ was _ alone. It just...I started thinking. That’s all.”

Party hums, jostling his head off their shoulder. Jet sits upright again, feeling his face heat up--did he misread the situation somehow? Was that much contact  _ too _ much contact?--but then Party’s wrapping their arm around his shoulders and tugging him back down, and he relaxes again. Oh. This is nice. Nicer than before, even.

“What were you thinking about?” they ask. “I mean--don’t talk about it if that’ll just make it worse. We can talk about somethin’ else if you’d rather. But, like. I’m here. You can talk to me if you want to.”

“Thank you,” says Jet, and he tries to emphasize just how much he means that. He lets his eyes fall closed, focusing on the warmth of Party’s body next to his, the weight of their arm on his shoulders. He considers, for a moment, and then says, “I just--it all reminded me of being back in Battery City. The dark. The solitude. And--well. Now you’re here, so it doesn’t matter.” And he means that in both ways, he realizes: Now Party’s in his life, and that makes up for the years he spent in BL/inds employ, but also Party is  _ here, _ physically, and he doesn’t have to think about that time of his life now.

“Glad I could help,” they say, and their voice is so quiet, yet so clear, here in this small space, and Jet can almost forget about the storm outside. “I...listen. Jet. I’ve been wantin’ to talk to you, and I guess now’s probably a good time. Or a shit time.” They snort. “But, well, I guess we’ll find out.”

There’s something in Party’s tone that sets Jet on edge, and he feels himself tensing up. Are they going to give him bad news? Or...well, actually, they sound more nervous than...apprehensive. He doesn’t lift his head from their shoulder, doesn’t move. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Party replies, and he can feel them inhale, taking a deep breath. It’s like they’re psyching themself up for something, and Jet feels his heart rate increase, but--but, no, he won’t get his hopes up. He’ll wait, listen to what they have to say. “Okay,” they say again. “So. I really fuckin’ like you.”

Jet’s heart leaps in his chest. “I,” he says, and clears his throat. “I like you, too. Meeting you changed my life.”

“Yeah,” says Party, softly. The arm around his shoulders twitches, like they don’t know what to do with it, or like they wanted to do something with it, but decided not to. “I’m pretty sure meeting you changed my life, too. I mean, besides the whole saving-me-from-brainwashing-and-busting-me-outta-the-city thing--which I’m grateful for, like, obviously!” They pause, sigh. “Anyway. I’m gettin’ off track. Jet. You mean a lot to me. Like, way more than I thought anyone could mean to me in, fuckin’--two weeks? Is that how long you’ve been out here?”

“Seventeen days,” says Jet, because that seems like the easiest part to respond to at the moment.

“Oh, seventeen days. Well that just makes it so much better,” Party says, and their voice is so teasingly sarcastic that Jet can’t help the breathy little laugh he gives. Party’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Anyway,” they continue, and they sound less nervous, more confident. “You mean a lot to me, and I don’t wanna mess up...whatever it is we have. But, fuck, Jet. I really wanna, like...be with you. Romantically. Oh my god, that sounds so fuckin’  _ stupid.” _ The last few words are muttered, spoken to themself, not to Jet.

Jet feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. “Okay,” he says. There’s no hesitation in his voice, no  _ doubt, _ because this is exactly what he’s been wanting to hear. He lifts his head from Party’s shoulder, looks them in the eye. “I want that, too. So much, Party.”

Party’s staring back at him, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. “Oh,” they say. “Uh. Okay. I wasn’t actually expectin’ you to, like, agree. Immediately, I mean.”

“Should I not have?” Jet asks. Shouldn’t he be straightforward about this? What good would it be to pretend he’s not interested? Pretend he doesn’t  _ want? _

Party shakes their head, dropping their gaze away from his. “It’s just--fuck. I don’t--I just...I think we need to talk? A little more? Before we actually, like. Do this. And you have no idea how fuckin’ hard it is for me to say that, holy  _ shit.” _

“Okay,” Jet says again, and his mind is reeling, and he wants to pull Party into his arms and just hold them, but he thinks that’ll probably be detrimental to whatever it is Party wants to talk about, so he doesn’t. He does, however, reach up and take the hand Party has dangling down his chest and intertwine their fingers together. “Talk about what? Exactly?”

“Fuck,” Party mumbles, and it sounds like they’re talking more to themself than to Jet. They clear their throat. “Uh. Okay, so. You met Show Pony. You know I’ve been in relationships before.”  
“Yeah?” Jet doesn’t really know what that has to do with anything, but then again he’s never been in--or even really _wanted_ to be in--a relationship, so…. “Is this about my lack of dating experience? Because I’m pretty sure I can figure most of that stuff out, uh, as we go.”

“What? Oh--no, it’s not that, Jet.” Party shrugs, tilting their head to look up toward the cave ceiling. “I just mean--I’ve been in a lot of relationships before. And, uh, they were all pretty terrible. I mean, I’m kind of, like, shit at relationships. Pony’s pretty much the only ex who actually talks to me anymore.”

“Oh.” Jet frowns, watching them as they bite their lip. He reaches over with his free hand and gently cups their chin, tilts their head back toward him. “What happened?” he asks. 

Party blinks, their gaze skipping across several points of his face before settling on his eyes. “...Like I said, I’m shit at relationships,” they tell him. “Like...we wanted different things, I guess, and we were-- _I_ was bad at talkin’ about stuff, bad at dealin’ with things. I didn’t make enough of an effort to, like, communicate. I guess.” They shrug, glancing away again, but they don’t pull away from Jet.  
Jet thinks this over for a moment, his thumb stroking lightly over the skin beneath Party's lower lip. He's not too keen on getting involved with someone who isn't willing to talk through problems, because that sounds exhausting and like it would involve way too much pretending everything is fine--and he's done with that, forever. And, well, with the way Party's been acting this past week, it certainly doesn't seem to be adding any points in their favor.  
Would a relationship with them even be _worth_ the risk?

Yeah, he thinks, watching the way Party fidgets as they wait for a response, thinking of how he feels even just sitting with them, like this. Yeah, it definitely would.

What was it Party had said once before? _Live while you can._  
"Okay," he says. "I think I understand what you're talking about. You've kind of been avoiding me lately. And that, uh...isn't a very good way to communicate."

Jet can feel Party’s jaw tighten, and they pull their head away from him, turning to face the wall opposite them. “You’re right,” they say. “And that probably proves that I  _ am _ shit at relationships, huh?”

“Not necessarily,” Jet says. He doesn’t reach for them again, but he doesn’t pull away either. “Why were you avoiding me?”

“Same reason I decided to talk to you, I guess,” they say. “Figured out I was into you, didn’t wanna fuck it up. ...Actually. I was kinda hopin’ if I pulled away from you, you’d, um, figure out that I wasn’t worth a relationship. At first, anyway. After that it was kinda just because I was, like...overwhelmed?”

Jet hums in response. “Avoiding me didn’t make me like you any less,” he says. “Though...I did think that maybe you were tryin’ to tell me  _ you _ didn’t like  _ me  _ and didn’t want me to, uh...pursue you.”

Party looks at him again, frowns. “Oh. Yeah, I can see how it might look like that.”

He nods. “But, well. Hearing your explanation for it…” He shakes his head. “You said you don’t communicate well. But...you’re communicating pretty well right now. Yeah?”

“Yeah…?”

“So, if you promise not to avoid me just to spare someone’s feelings, and to talk things out if you think there’s a problem--and I promise to do the same thing--then there’s nothing stopping us from moving forward, right?”

They blink at him, and he sees a smile start to spread across their face, starting at their lips and quickly reaching their eyes. “Yeah,” they say. “I think that sounds like a pretty good plan.”

“Good,” says Jet, and he smiles back at them, squeezes their hand. “Then can I kiss you now?”

Party doesn’t reply. They lean forward without hesitation and close the gap between the two of them, their lips pressing against his, and Jet’s hand moves automatically to cradle the back of their neck, holding them to him. 

It’s wonderful. Jet’s never kissed anyone before, never really  _ wanted _ to kiss anyone until recently, but he can definitely see the appeal. Party’s lips are soft, and he can feel them smiling. Their hand, the one that isn’t still clasped in Jet’s, has crept up into his hair, and the gentle tugging sensation just makes Jet want to kiss them even more. 

Party pulls away first, their hand slipping from his hair, but they don’t go far, just a few inches. They’re watching him, looking into his eyes, and even in the darkness Jet feels like he could melt beneath their gaze.

He moves his hand from the back of their neck to their waist, pulling them closer and turning the both of them so that they’re facing each other rather than sitting beside each other. He lets go of their hand, cups their jaw. “Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Party rolls their eyes, fondness evident in the way their still-present smile widens. “You don’t need to ask me that every time,” they say, and lick their lips. “But yeah. You can abso _ -fuckin’- _ lutely kiss me again.”

Jet laughs lightly, leans in, and kisses Party. He strokes his thumb over their cheek, tilting their head to what he feels is the perfect angle, and then Party’s hands are all over him, it seems, stroking his back and his sides, fingers carding through his hair. His heart is pounding, and he feels so light, so happy. He tugs Party closer, halfway into his lap, and Party’s lips part just enough to deepen the kiss.

He isn’t sure how long they’re there, just kissing and holding each other, but it feels like both a scant few seconds and an entire age. They only pull apart when Kobra abruptly announces in their heads,  _ ‘The sandstorm’s over. You can come home now.’ _

Party straightens up, eyes still locked with Jet’s. “Holy shit,” they whisper. “We should probably get goin’, but like, I really don’t wanna move right now. I’m pretty comfortable.”

Jet laughs, placing both his hands on Party’s waist. “We don’t want them to worry,” he says. “And we’ll have plenty of time for us in the future.”

“I like the sound of that,” they say, and they lean in to kiss him again.

_ ‘Oh my god,’ _ Kobra thinks at them a few minutes later.  _ ‘Can we go back to when you two were doing your whole mutual pining thing? That was, somehow, easier to deal with than  _ this.  _ Just get home!’ _

Party pulls away, laughing, and climbs out of his lap, carefully getting to their feet. They hold a hand out to Jet. “C’mon,” they say. “Don’t wanna make ‘em worry, right?”

Jet takes their hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaahhhhhhh i've been SO excited to post this chapter!!! for obvious reasons i'm sure ;*
> 
> ART: https://jetstairs.tumblr.com/post/185376250337/can-you-believe-it-was-too-hot-to-run-my-laptop  
> please look at these dracs. look at that jet. i love them..... <3 thank you so much!!
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment, i'd love to know what you think! :D
> 
> see you next week ;*


	17. We're All in Love Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party has a boyfriend.  
> Date Night doesn't quite turn out as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 24! :D
> 
> i'm so glad you all liked last week's chapter! :) I hope you'll enjoy this one too!!
> 
> as always, BIG thank you to my zucchini ace (asexualrinmatsuoka on tumblr) for beta-reading and providing me with endless encouragement and reminding me to do things like eat so i don't die!! <3
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: heavily implied sexual content, violence/blood.

It’s late afternoon by the time they get back to the diner, way past naptime, and really fucking hot, but Party can’t bring themself to actually care about the heat when Jet’s hand is in theirs and he keeps sending them these little  _ looks _ that make them feel all soft and sappy.

Party can hardly believe this is actually happening, keeps thinking they should probably pinch themself, prove this isn’t a dream, because Jet is their  _ boyfriend _ now, and he’s also a pretty awesome kisser, and Party was seriously having trouble keeping things PG back in the cave.

Fuck. He’s their  _ boyfriend _ now! What the fuck!

They walk into the diner, and as soon as they’re out of the superheated air of the desert, Party turns to Jet and grabs his face in both their hands, tugging him down to kiss those goddamn  _ delicious  _ lips again.

He kisses back, his hands on Party’s waist, but he pulls away after just a few moments, and Party can’t help the low whine that escapes them at the loss of contact. Fuck, they could kiss Jet for _ ever. _

Good thing Kobra’s asleep, or they’d be getting some really angry threats and complaints in their head right about now.

Jet smiles at them, cups their chin in one hand, his thumb stroking lightly over their lower lip, his other hand still on their waist. Party sucks in a breath, their hands moving to grip the lapels of his jacket, completely ready for the full-on makeout session they’re positive is coming. Fuck  _ yes! _

He ducks in close and presses a kiss to their right cheekbone, then their left, which is definitely not what Party was expecting or hoping for, but they are absolutely melting at the amount of sheer  _ gentleness _ Jet’s showing them. His lips linger for just a moment before skating across their skin to capture Party’s lips, and now they’re  _ sure _ they’re melting into a real, actual puddle on the floor, their whole body going boneless as they lean all their weight against him.

And yet again, he pulls away before they want him to. “We should go to bed,” he says, voice soft, and Party feels themself perk up.

“You’re so fucking correct,” they tell him, and they straighten up. Jet releases them from his grip, which they consider to be disappointing but technically necessary, and Party grabs his hand, pulling him away from the door and toward their bedroom.

And then Jet’s pulling his hand out of their grip? Which is rude and possibly illegal. Party turns to demand where he’s going and sees Jet fiddling with the sofa cushion and blankets in the diner booth he’s been sleeping in. “Uh?” they ask. “What the hell are you doing?”

Jet looks over at them, evidently confused--which is still a good look on him,  _ very _ cute by the way--and says, “Um...I’m going to sleep?”

“Yeah, okay, but why here when I have a perfectly good mattress in my room? That booth’s shit on your back, Jet, and your legs are way too long!”

He blinks at them. “Uh?” he says. “Oh. Oh!” He flushes, and smiles, and Party beams back at him.

“Yeah, man, no more shitty diner booths for you!” They take his hand again. “Gonna be hot as hell in there, but--” they tug him forward, stretch up to give him a peck on the lips, “--we can also continue doin’  _ this  _ and I won’t even complain if you wanna sleep naked.”

“Uh,” says Jet again, following Party as they lead him to their room, opening the door. “Well, uh, probably not.”

“Oh, fine,” they say, and they’re kind of disappointed--okay,  _ really _ disappointed, because now that Jet’s their  _ boyfriend _ (holy shit!) their desire to get their hands all over him has been increased, like, tenfold--but it’s fine, they can make due with kissing and snuggling with clothes  _ on _ and all that. They step into their room and go over to the mattress on the floor, grabbing pillows and rearranging them so they can feasibly fit two people on it.

“Do you want help?” Jet asks, and Party glances over their shoulder to see him standing awkwardly in the doorway. He looks hesitant, his arms hanging at his sides, hands clenching and unclenching. He’s holding himself differently enough from how he had been just a minute ago that Party can’t help but be concerned.

“You okay?” they ask, straightening up and facing him, hands on their hips.

Jet nods, but he’s worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. “I just--” he pauses. “I haven’t, um, ever shared a bed with anyone.”

Unsurprising. Jet spent the last ten years without any significant relationships of any kind, and people in Battery City are generally discouraged from being very touchy-feely or whatever, anyway. Party gives him what they hope is an understanding smile and opens their arms. “Come here,” they say. 

Tentatively, he steps forward and into their offered embrace, and Party hugs him tight, pressing their face into his neck. Jet’s arms come up and hold them, too, and Party feels so wonderful, so goddamn  _ safe _ , for all of two seconds before the heat gets to be too much for them. 

They lift their head, loosening their grip on him and stepping back just slightly, looking up into his eyes. “Hey,” they say. “We don’t have to do anything, Jet. It’s just--like that time we fell asleep on the sofa together. Y’know? That was nice, yeah?”

Jet smiles at them. “Yeah...okay,” he says. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good.” Party grins at him, then completely releases him from their grip and steps away, stripping out of their jacket and jeans. “Get comfy, Jet, it’s fuckin’  _ naptime!” _

They toss their discarded clothes into a pile of similar items and turn back around in time to see Jet pulling his shirt over his head, and for the first time in  _ weeks, _ they’re faced with that absolutely  _ delectable  _ tummy, and Jet’s chest is just as gorgeous, smooth skin over hard muscle with a fuzz of dark hair trailing down.

Oh fuck, they’re honest to god  _ drooling. _

Jet puts his shirt and jacket on the floor near the door and looks at Party, and that nervous expression is back. “Um,” he says. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Party says way too quickly, but that doesn’t really matter now, because Jet’s  _ shirtless!  _ “Yes, oh my god,  _ yeah, _ please never ever  _ ever _ put a shirt on again, oh my  _ god.” _

Jet’s expression morphs into one of amusement. “Uh, not so sure if that’s a good idea,” he says, voice teasing. Party’s going to  _ die. _ “I have to go back outside at some point, and the sun--”

_ “Fuck _ the sun,” Party says emphatically. They step closer, lift up a hand. “Oh my god oh my god oh my  _ god, _ ” they say, eyes roving all over his torso and taking in as much alluring detail as possible, “Can I touch you?”

“Uh. Sure?” 

Party places their fingertips gently--so goddamn gently--in the exact center of his chest, and stroke through the downy hairs there, and they groan. “Holy shit,” they say, reverently.

“Um,” says Jet, and Party lifts their gaze from the tantalizing sight in front of them back up to Jet’s eyes. He’s blushing, and that’s still probably Party’s favorite look on him--cheeks and the tips of his ears darkening, the warm brown of his eyes seeming more intense. Embarrassed or nervous? Both are conquerable, and Party wants him to feel like neither is necessary, not when he’s with them.

Party spreads their fingers out, pressing the palm of their hand flat against his chest, and leans up to kiss him, softly. It’s a quick kiss, just a peck, and when they pull away they say, “Okay, I’ll quit ogling you so we can sleep, but you’re absolutely the hottest and most goddamn  _ divine _ man I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Oh,” says Jet, and there’s a little stutter as his breath catches, and, fuck, Party is  _ seriously _ going to die. He blinks, and his lips stretch into a grin, and he’s still blushing as he leans down and kisses Party back. “I, um,” he says, straightening up. “You’re--” he pauses, eyes searching Party’s, and then he says, in the softest voice imaginable, “You’re beautiful.”

Party’s dead, they’re gone, they’ve fucking died and gone to heaven, they’re  _ swooning _ , and it’s ridiculous because they’ve heard tons of compliments before, been called beautiful and gorgeous and sexy, but no one’s ever said it the way Jet says it, and no one’s ever made Party feel the way Jet makes them feel, and they’re going to  _ combust! _

They grab his hand and pull him to the mattress, falling down onto it and pulling him down with them. “Jet,” they say, leaning over him and looking into his eyes. “It’s  _ naptime _ and you are going to hold me in your gorgeous, sweaty arms while we sleep.”

He blinks at them, and a moment later he laughs, high and joyful. He sits up, scooting back on the mattress, and lays back down, shifting to get comfortable. He opens his arms, and grins, and Party falls against him, pressing their face against his chest and pressing a kiss to the skin there. 

“Hell yeah,” they whisper, and Jet laughs again, quieter this time.

“Go to sleep, Party,” he says, and they feel a slight pressure against the top of their head, know he’s pressed a kiss there. “You were right. This is much better than the diner booth.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of them to fall asleep like that.

 

\----------

 

Ghoul doesn’t envy Kobra. Not one fucking bit. 

He can clearly see how sappy Party and Jet are being, how snuggly they’ve been the last few days, always hanging off each other and sitting pressed up close together. He doesn’t want to even consider what it’s like to be in their goddamn  _ brains _ when they’re like this.

Not that he and Kobra are any better, of course, but that’s a different story. It’s not like Party has to listen to Ghoul’s thoughts while he’s staring at their brother’s ass or whatever. Kobra’s the only one who’s really suffering here.

Of course, Kobra hasn’t exactly been keeping his suffering to himself.

_ ‘Ghoul,’ _ Kobra thinks to him one evening, while Ghoul’s out in his workshop taking apart a BL/ind tracking device, and Kobra’s in the diner with the lovebirds.  _ ‘They’re in the other room, and they won’t stop  _ kissing, _ and Party’s brain is fuckin’  _ firmly  _ in the gutter. _

_ ‘Better than when they were both fallin’ over each other and Party was pretendin’ not to be in love, though, right?’ _ Ghoul sends back, carefully setting aside one of the more delicate pieces.

_ ‘No,’ _ Kobra thinks firmly.  _ ‘This is worse,  _ much  _ worse, I don’t wanna know every fuckin’ fantasy my sibling has about their boyfriend!’ _

_ ‘Then come out here.’ _ Ghoul leans back on his stool, rocking back and forth on its wobbly legs.  _ ‘Leave ‘em alone and come help me mess with BL/ind.’ _

_ ‘I’ll still hear ‘em from there!’ _ Kobra sends him a note of desperation, and a moment later, Ghoul hears a door open outside, and knows Kobra’s leaving the diner.

_ ‘Just focus on my thoughts for a while. I’ll think real distractin’ things, real loud. Won’t even be sexy things, if you don’t want, ‘cause I’m sure that won’t help ya with this.’ _

The door to the workshop opens, and Kobra appears. To most people, he’d look cool and collected, but Ghoul knows him well enough to spot the little crease between his eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of his mouth. He’s clearly annoyed.

Ghoul rights the stool he’s sitting on, leans over and kicks the stool beside him. It’s an invitation, and Kobra takes him up on it, sitting down and propping his elbows on the worktable. He drops his head into his hands with a loud sigh.

Ghoul doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach out to him, just goes back to work, picking up his tweezers to disconnect one of the wires inside the device. It’s not something he really has to focus on, so he lets his mind wander, more or less, thinking of parts he’ll have to find or trade for, that new song he heard on the new station from that stronghold on the other side of the desert, how long it’ll take before they can find or buy a new sofa. Simple things, mundane things, things that will give Kobra a break from the stress of always living in other people’s heads.

Kobra’s quiet for a few minutes, slowly and visibly relaxing, and then he sits up, looking over at Ghoul. Ghoul meets his gaze, passes over a few tools and the electronics he’s removed so far from the tracker. “Feeling better?” he asks.

Kobra takes what’s handed to him and gets to work fiddling with components. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They work side by side for a few minutes more, trading tools back and forth.

“It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to deal with this,” Kobra says abruptly.

Ghoul hums a response, keeping his eyes trained on his work. “Yeah. Party’s always got a one-track mind when they’ve got a datemate.”

“Yeah. It’s not new.” Kobra sets aside the screwdriver he was using, leans back to stare up at the bare rafters of the ceiling. 

“You’ve never liked it before, either,” Ghoul says. “You don’t hafta explain shit to me, Kobes, I know it bugs ya, and you know you can always come hide in my brain if you need to.”

Kobra falls silent again, and then a moment later he’s scooting his stool closer to Ghoul’s, twisting to face him. Ghoul looks up then, watching him, and Kobra leans forward, resting his forehead against Ghoul’s shoulder. “I love you,” he says.

Ghol doesn’t move, doesn’t want to jostle Kobra, but he feels himself smile. “I know,” he says, and turns back to the tracking device.

Kobra snorts, lifting his head so that now it’s his chin resting on Ghoul’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around Ghoul, hands slipping beneath his jacket. He doesn’t pull him close or force him away from his work, just...holds him. It’s nice.

“You know I love Party,” Kobra says, and Ghoul glances at him, sees that his eyes are closed, his face and body much more relaxed than when he’d come in, but he’s still kind of tense.

“Course I do,” he replies. “Why’re you bringin’ that up, though?”

“I’m just...thinkin’,” Kobra says. “This thing with Jet is pretty serious, yeah? More serious than anythin’ they’ve had before.”

“They’ve only been datin’ three days, Kobes,” says Ghoul. “Hardly think they’re gonna run off and have a commitment ceremony, like, tomorrow.”

“Well, no,” Kobra says. He shifts, presses his cheek against Ghoul’s. It’s rough, stubbly, and Ghoul loves it. “I dunno how long it’ll last. I mean, I hope it lasts a while--Jet’s a good guy, and deserves the best, and fuck if I’m not glad Party’s moved on from the shitty relationships they used to have--but I’m not sayin’ it’s a forever thing. But….” he trails off, rubs his stubble against Ghoul’s cheek. “They’re good for each other. I want ‘em to be together for a while.” Kobra straightens up, then, pulling away. Ghoul turns to look at him, focusing all his attention on Kobra now, because it seems like he’s gearing up for something serious.

“If this works out for them, I’m  _ never _ gonna have peace,” Kobra continues, and he looks so  _ tired, _ so absolutely fucking  _ done, _ that Ghoul can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Fuck, Kobes,” he says. “They seriously that bad?”

“Do you really have to ask that, Ghoul?” Kobra shakes his head. “I know too much about too many people. I know too much about my own  _ sibling. _ Past experience tells me that soon I’ll know too much about Jet, and I won’t be able to look him in the eye for a week.”

Ghoul snorts, knocks his knee against Kobra’s. He feels bad for him, of course--seriously, if there’s ever a time he’s glad his only power is sound-based, it’s when he sees this kinda thing happen to Kobra--but he still likes to tease him.

“Anyway,” Kobra continues, “if they’re gonna be together a while, I think maybe we should get a place for just you and me.”

Ghoul freezes. What? Kobra’s said it so casually-- _ a place for just you and me _ \--and, what? “Are you serious?” he asks, because he’s known Kobra for six years, and even in the past, during Party’s most passionate relationships, he’s never even  _ suggested _ leaving his sibling behind.

“We wouldn’t be leavin’ ‘em behind,” Kobra says. His gaze is locked with Ghoul’s, his eyes intense. “We wouldn’t even have to move very far--just get out of range so I wouldn’t have to pick up their ambient thoughts all the time. Build a house together, you and me, somethin’ small.”

“You’re serious,” Ghoul says, and he shakes his head. “I don’t have a problem with it.” Which is true--Ghoul loves Party, likes Jet enough to enjoy being around him, but the only person he actually  _ needs _ , for the most part, is Kobra. Ghoul can handle not seeing Party or Jet 24/7. But can Kobra?

“I’m serious. And I’ll be fine. I don’t wanna go too far, but--I think we all just need some distance. Y’know. Sometimes.” He shrugs, puts a hand on Ghoul’s knee. “Anyway, it was just a thought. Think on it?”

“Sure,” Ghoul says, and he doesn’t know if he’s agreeing to think on it, or if he’s actually agreeing to build them a fucking  _ house _ , but Kobra smiles, and leans in to give him a quick kiss, so he’s fine with whichever.

 

\----------

 

They’ve been together for exactly one week when Party announces that they’re going to take Jet out on a “real, actual date.”

“I gotta show you off!” they say, pulling their jacket on. “Make everybody jealous that I got the hottest and sweetest and absolutely fucking  _ best _ boyfriend.”

“I don’t think that’s what a date is,” Jet teasingly informs them. 

“That’s fuckin’ exactly what a date is. Kobra! Tell Jet what a date is!”

“Not whatever you have planned, I’m sure,” Kobra says as he exits his bedroom and walks toward them, his boots tucked under one arm. “You’re goin’ to the bar? Sweet. Me ‘n’ Ghoul’re comin’, too.”

“The bar?” Jet asks, sending a questioning look over to Party. They’d just told him they were going out, not where to. He hasn’t been to the bar before, but the other three have mentioned it a few times.

Party groans, leaning heavily on Jet. “It’s a  _ date!” _ they whine. “As in, me and  _ Jet. _ If you guys come, it’s not a date, it’s a goddamn family outing!”

That actually sounds pretty nice to Jet. He’s not sure why Party’s complaining.

Kobra sits down on the floor to pull his boots on. “You two need a chaperone,” he says. “And Ghoul wants to dance.”

“He can’t dance here?” Party grouses, and Jet leans closer to press a kiss to their cheek.

“It’s okay, Party,” he says. “I’m sure we won’t get in each other’s way.”

Party relaxes against him in the way they nearly always seem to when he kisses them or wraps an arm around them. It’s easy for him to calm them down, he’s found, when they get worked up over simple things.

“Fine, fine,” they relent. “You can come, but you’ve gotta stay at least fifteen paces from me and Jet at all times.”

Kobra snorts, standing up. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not gonna be spendin’ more time with you than I have to, anyway. I’m only goin’ ‘cause Ghoul wants to.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Jet asks. It’s evening, and usually at this time Ghoul would be working on some project--Jet thinks he was building a bomb or something yesterday, but he didn’t actually  _ ask _ because he didn’t actually want to  _ know _ \--but one glance outside tells him no one’s in the workshop, its single window dark.

“On the roof,” Kobra says, and shrugs. “The stars are nice tonight. I was gonna go join him, but you started thinkin’ about the bar, so.”

Party sighs, wrapping their arm around Jet’s waist. “Don’t care,” they say. “But we’re goin’  _ now,  _ so if you two’re crashin’ our date, let’s get goin’.”

They start for the door, keeping their arm around him, and Jet doesn’t fight his little snicker when Party discovers that they can’t both fit through the door at once. He steps out of Party’s hold, takes their hand in his own, and pulls them out into the cool, moonlit night.

“You’re a disaster,” Kobra tells Party, following the two of them out of the diner. “You’re lucky your boyfriend has some critical thinkin’ skills.”

“Fuck off,” Party says, and sticks their tongue out at him. Jet laughs, walking to the car. He runs his thumb over their knuckles, bringing their attention back to him.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he asks. All joking aside, he really doesn’t know what a date’s like. In Battery City, people didn’t really  _ date _ so much as get matched up by BL/ind and then married. Even the romance dramas Jet caught on TV focused on married life: working, maybe going out to a restaurant together, and then coming home to take care of their kids. Romance just isn’t really something BL/ind cares about or endorses.

Party shrugs. “I dunno really. Just thought we should get outta the house, y’know? I mean, aside from goin’ out every morning, we’ve been inside basically this whole time. And we can’t even classify those as dates or even alone time, ‘cause you’re fuckin’  _ corporeal _ and I’m a ghost and  _ Kobra’s there! _ Terrible. Bad date conditions. We shoulda gone on a date the day after you agreed to be my boyfriend. Shit. You’re my  _ boyfriend!” _

Jet chuckles. “Are you going to do that every time?” Although, he has to admit that every time he hears Party call him their boyfriend, a little thrill goes through him. It makes him happy in a way he’s never actually pictured himself feeling. “Anyway, we’ve had a lot of alone time this week, I think. We’ve mostly been in your room--”

_ “Our _ room,” Party interjects.

“--or in the living room while Kobra and Ghoul are out. And, uh, I think there’s gonna be other people at the bar, right?”

They’re at the car now, and Party opens the passenger side door, climbing in and over the center console to the driver’s seat without releasing Jet’s hand. “Yeah,” they say, settling into the seat.

“I thought you wanted alone time?” Jet shuts the door behind him. “Isn’t that what you just said?”

“Yeah! That too!”

And now Jet’s even more confused. Yet another feeling he often experiences with Party. “But if you want alone time...why are we going to the bar?”

“So I can show you off! Pay attention, Jet!”

“Don’t try to figure it out,” Kobra says, getting into the backseat. “You’ll just hurt yourself tryin’ to follow their logic.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Party says, and they sound almost cheerful. They turn in their seat to look at Ghoul as he, too, gets in. “Hey, asshole! Thanks for crashin’ my date!”

Ghoul shoots Kobra a look Jet can’t decipher and says, “Yeah, well. You know how I love to fuck shit up.”

“Your fetish,” Kobra says with a smirk, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Ghoul huffs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever,” he says. He meets Party’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “We gonna go, or what?”

The drive to the bar isn’t very long or eventful, though Party does complain when Jet lets go of their hand so they can drive properly. He places it on their knee for the duration of the trip, though, which seems to placate them.

Jet isn’t sure what he was expecting the bar to be like, but he’s surprised to see that it’s reminiscent of Show Pony’s house--bright lights in a multitude of colors, people standing outside, talking and laughing.

“C’mon!” Party says, jumping out after they’ve parked the car. They peer into the backseat and reach through the missing window to swat at Ghoul and Kobra. “Remember! Fifteen paces, minimum!” they say with a glare. They look over the top of the car at Jet, who’s climbed out of his own seat by then. “Jet!! Come hold my hand!” They frantically wave their hand in the air over their head.

Jet snorts, waves to Ghoul and Kobra, who haven’t moved to get out of the car yet, and moves to take Party’s hand--the one that isn’t flailing through the air. “Okay,” he says. “We’re here. Now what?”

“Now we see who’s here! C’mon!” They lean forward to kiss him, pulling back before Jet can properly kiss them back--probably a good thing, since their kisses can get pretty heated if they linger too long--and tugging him toward the door. “Can ya hear the music, Jet? Bet they’ve got a buncha tunes ya haven’t heard yet!”

And if Jet listens closely, he  _ can _ hear music coming from the open door of the building. It’s faint, but growing louder as they get closer. He feels himself grinning. “With lyrics?” he asks.

“Yeah, most of it’s got lyrics,” they tell him. “They’ve got a big collection of pre-BL/ind stuff here--CDs, tapes, fuckin’  _ vinyls, _ man!”

“I don’t know what those are!” Jet says, delighted. Ever since the party at Show Pony’s, he’s been fascinated by the music found out here in the desert. Even if he’s not quite sure what Party’s date plans are, the addition of music-- _ new _ music--makes whatever else happens completely worth it, in his opinion.

Inside, the lights are even brighter, though a smoky haze softens the neon glow in a way Jet immediately loves. There aren’t as many people in here as he’d been expecting--only ten or so, maybe a couple more hidden in the corners somewhere--and he’s more than okay with that.

He quickly identifies the source of the music as a large box off to one side, something like an old-fashioned speaker, and he pulls Party over to it.

“Ya like it?” Party asks, sticking close to his side. “It’s a jukebox. Think it’s modified to play more stuff, but it’s real old.”

Jet reaches out with his free hand and runs his fingers lightly over the buttons, labeled with combinations of letters and numbers, each corresponding with the name of what he assumes to be a song on a list posted on the wall beside it. “Wow,” he says. “There’s a lot of songs to choose from.”

“Pretty great, huh?” Party says, a smug tone to their voice. “Thought you’d like it. Great first date so far, huh?” 

He laughs, turns and kisses them softly. “Pretty great,” he agrees. “I wanna listen to all of ‘em.”

Party opens their mouth to reply, but another voice cuts through the noise.

“Yo, Poison!”

Jet turns when Party does and sees two people coming toward them. They’re both tall, with brightly-colored hair. Not an unusual look for the desert, of course. 

The one who spoke, a woman with hair red enough to rival Party’s and a raggedy jacket, comes to a stop in front of them. “Haven’t seen ya ‘round in a couple weeks!” she says, an easy grin on her face. “Came back so I could win my 20 carbons back from ya, huh?” she laughs, then turns to Jet. “Oh, hey! I don’t know you!”

Jet blinks. He's never really thought about what it must be like to be someone of, say, Ghoul's stature, but here, standing next to these giants, he thinks maybe he has an inkling. He shakes his head to clear it, smiles back at her. “I’m Jet Star,” he says.

“My boyfriend!” Party jumps in, holding up their joined hands and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “So hands off.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “You know I ain’t interested,” she says, and then beams at Jet. “Anyway! I’m Monster Alarm. And this--” she throws an arm over her companion’s shoulder and tugs him forward, “--is my cupie, Kiwi Blast!”

“Nice to meetcha,” Kiwi Blast says, lifting one hand in greeting and smiling at Jet. He has bright green hair, spiked high on his head, and Jet stares at it for a long moment, fascinated.

Then he shakes himself and says, “Yeah, uh, nice to meet you, too.”

“So, seriously, Poison,” Monster Alarm says, “you up for a game? I got my good luck charm--” she pats Kiwi Blast’s cheek here, “--and a pocket full’a carbons. Whaddaya say, huh?”

Jet can see Party hesitate, feel the way their fingers tighten on his. He’s not sure why--these people are clearly Party’s friends, or at least acquaintances. Oh--maybe it’s because the last time they played, they got caught and taken to Battery City. Well, that’s clearly not going to happen this time; Jet’s here, and he doesn’t intend to leave Party on their own tonight. He squeezes Party’s hand gently, trying to reassure them.

Party shoots Jet a look, something soft he can’t quite read. “I dunno,” they say, turning back toward the other two, “I’m kinda on a date, ya know?”

Jet blinks. Oh--so it’s not that they’re worried for themself. They just don’t want to interrupt their date, or...don’t want Jet to feel left out? He gives a breathy little chuckle, leans in and kisses their cheek. “It’s fine,” he says. “I kinda wanna watch you play, anyway. See these pool skills for myself.” Assuming Party really can play without using their telekinesis. Well, they probably can. Hopefully.

“If you wanna see skills, you should watch  _ me _ play,” Monster Alarm says. “Yeah, Kiwi?”

Kiwi Blast is clearly biting back a grin, fighting to keep his expression even. “Right,” he says. “Monster’s amazing.”

“Not amazin’ enough to beat me!” Party exclaims, and starts pulling Jet toward the pool table at the back of the room. “Seriously, I’ve never lost a single goddamn game, Jet!” They keep ahold of his hand as they pick up a cue stick, twirling it.

“So I’ve heard,” Jet replies with a grin. While Party and Monster Alarm set up their game, he looks around the bar a bit more.  
They’re farther away from the jukebox now, obviously, but he can still clearly hear it. The song currently playing is soft, pretty. It almost reminds him of the music in Battery City, but it’s still far more passionate than anything produced there.

A few people are dancing, swaying to the music, but most of the other patrons are standing around the edges of the room or sitting at the tables, talking and drinking.

Kobra and Ghoul are seated at a table near the door, leaning close together with their foreheads almost touching. He’d thought they’d be dancing, since that was apparently the reason Ghoul had wanted to come, but maybe this particular song just isn’t the type either of them want to dance to. 

Come to think of it, the few times Jet’s been in Ghoul’s workshop while he was working, he’s had loud, fast-paced music playing that can only be described as “heavy” and “mechanical.” This song is basically the complete opposite of that.

The other people around are interesting to watch--most of them are wearing bright colors, which seems to be the norm out here, and many have colorful hair and makeup, too. They all seem to be in pairs or small groups.

One of the more colorful rebels, a person dressed entirely in shades of purple, glances up at him. He sees them quirk an eyebrow at him, and then turn to whisper something to their companion. They both look at him again, giggling, and Jet turns away as he feels his face heat up. They’re probably just watching him because he’s a new face around here, but it still makes him a little nervous.

Party’s finished setting up the pool table now and is saying something to Monster Alarm, both of them clutching their cue sticks. 

Jet’s never seen anyone play pool before. It isn’t a game that’s played in Battery City--really, there are very few games played in Battery City--and though Party had explained the rules to him, it’s going to be a completely different experience to actually see it played.

It’s been a month of new experiences, really.

“M’kay, you wanna break, be my guest,” Monster Alarm says, and beside her, Kiwi Blast nods.

Party leans over the table and looks up at Jet. “Check it out!” they say. “Watch a master at work.” They throw him a wink, then turn their attention back to the game at hand.

Jet watches as Party sends the white ball--the cue ball?--shooting into the others, which scatter across the table. Three balls make it into the holes--pockets?--and disappear. “Yes!” Party exclaims, and grabs Jet by the shoulders to pull him down and give him a big, smacking kiss on the lips.

“I take it that was good,” Jet says with a smile, and Party grins back at him.

_ “Very _ good,” they say, and turn back just in time to see Monster Alarm send one of the balls into a pocket.

“Fuck  _ yes!” _ she says, and Kiwi Blast offers her his hand for a high-five. “Beat  _ that, _ Poison!”

“I already have,” they say, and go back to their game.

They take a bit longer to set up their next shot, so Jet glances around the room once more. More people are dancing now, including Ghoul and Kobra--probably because there’s a louder and more frantic song playing now.

He hears Party strike and is about to turn his attention back to the game when he notices two newcomers step inside the bar, and recognizes one of them as Show Pony.

“Oh,” he says, and waves to them.

“Babe!” Party calls, and they sound--well,  _ offended. _ He looks over at them, and they’re giving him what can only be described as a  _ scathing _ look. He gulps. “You weren’t lookin’!” they accuse. “That was a fuckin’ awesome shot, and you--oh.” They’ve focused on something over his shoulder now, and Jet doesn’t have to wonder what--or rather,  _ who _ they’re looking at.

“Party, darling!” Show Pony says. “Fancy seeing you here, hm?”

Jet turns when Party comes to stand beside him, abandoning their cue stick at the table. Show Pony’s got glitter all over them, and they’re dressed as flamboyantly as ever. Jet figures it’s their own personal uniform.

“And Jet Star!” Pony continues, looking him up and down, “You’re just as ravishing as always.”

Jet laughs lightly at that, grabbing Party’s hand as he feels them bristle beside him. “Thanks,” he says. “Nice to see you.”

He can clearly see Pony following his motion with their eyes, sees their eyes shift to the dark marks dotting Party’s neck, sees the way their eyebrows arch up ever so slightly. “Well,” they say, without a hint of disappointment, “I suppose congratulations are in order, hm?”

“Better fuckin’ believe it!” Party says, sounding pleased. “Jet’s my goddamn boyfriend!” They noisily kiss his cheek.

Jet rolls his eyes with a grin, face heating up. “Are you going to do that every time?” he asks, and his eyes fall on Show Pony’s friend, half-hidden behind them.

She’s small and wiry, just a hair shorter than Ghoul is from the looks of it. She’s wearing color, as everyone does, but hers are more muted than most of what he’s used to seeing. Most importantly, however, she’s staring directly at Jet, her eyes wide, expression frozen.

He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile, though he’s unsure of why someone he’s never met would be looking at him like  _ this. _ Her eyes narrow then, jaw tightening, and she says in a hard voice he can barely hear over the music and conversations around him,  _ “You.” _

Jet blinks, confused. “Me?” he asks. “Um...I’m sorry. Have we met?” He knows they haven’t met. He can list the names of everyone he’s met out here, count them on the fingers of both hands. 

So his confusion only deepens when she hisses out, “You fucking  _ know _ what you did,  _ Jet Star.” _

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard his name said with such anger, such  _ malice,  _ and he has no idea how to respond because he has  _ no clue who she is. _

Luckily, Party jumps in then. “Excuse me?” they say, anger lacing their own tone. “Why the fuck are you talkin’ to my boyfriend like that?” They’re still holding his hand, but their grip has turned into a stranglehold, and their stance has shifted, shoulders tense and feet planted firmly on the floor, set apart. They’re gearing up for a fight.

“Rabbit, darling, is something wrong?” Show Pony looks almost as confused as Jet feels, their eyebrows pulled together and their lips pursed as they look down at her.

“You’ve got ‘em all fooled, don’t you?” the girl--Rabbit?--says, and he can see her start to shake, her breathing quickening. “They don’t know. They don’t know what you did, what you  _ are.” _

Party steps forward, squeezing Jet’s hand in their vice-like grip, and grabs the girl by the collar of her shirt. 

Jet tries to stop them, tugs on their hand and mutters, “Party, wait--” but they don’t listen.

“Did you come here just to start shit?” Party asks, hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt and keeping her held at a distance.

Rabbit swallows, her throat tensing with the motion, and for a moment everything’s still, silent--

And then it’s broken, Rabbit wrenching herself out of Party’s grip and launching herself at them.

“Wait!” Show Pony calls, reaching out, but no one pays them any mind.

Party releases Jet’s hand, both of their own coming up to block the blow Rabbit aims at their face, and they strike out with their elbow, catching her in the ribs and knocking her aside.

Jet’s torn--he wants to jump into action, fight alongside Party and pull her away from them, but he also wants to grab Party’s arm and flee back to the car, too. And there’s something else, a niggling fear in the back of his mind that maybe this girl  _ does _ know him, maybe he  _ did _ do something, and that thought is paralyzing enough that he’s forced into frozen inaction, rooted to the spot on the sidelines as Party fights to defend him.

Rabbit’s light on her feet, bouncing around and dodging most of the blows Party aims at her. She ducks beneath their arm and slams her knee into their side, throwing them off balance, and then rushes forward, and suddenly she’s in Jet’s face, slamming the palm of her hand into Jet’s nose.

Pain explodes in his face, and he hears the yelp he lets out, feels the sting of tears in his eyes, the warm gush of blood flowing down his face, and yanks himself backward, moving to press his back against the wall without thinking about it. He should have hit back, should have pushed her away, restrained her, but he doesn’t want to fight her, not when he doesn’t know whether or not he’s done something to deserve this.

Not when there’s a chance.

His eyes are watering, so he squeezes them shut, pressing his hand beneath his nose in a useless attempt to keep the blood from spilling all over his clothes. He hears Party growl, low and angry, hears shouting and scuffling as the other rebels rush in to join the fight or run off in the opposite direction. 

When he opens his eyes next, blinking away the tears, Kobra’s standing a few feet away, holding Rabbit with her arms pinned behind her back.

She’s holding more or less still in his grip, her eyes wide and frightened, chest heaving as she pants. There’s a cut on her forehead, blood flowing down her face. Party’s nearby, and his eyes zero in on them. They’re holding their shoulder with the opposite hand, a pained grimace on their face. They’re watching Rabbit with rage in their eyes.

His face feels almost numb now, and so it doesn’t quite register as  _ painful _ when he asks, voice coming out muzzy, “Everything okay?”

Kobra looks at him, face neutral as usual, but there’s something in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, that sets Jet on edge. It’s like he  _ knows _ something. 

Kobra doesn’t say anything for a long moment, simply holding Jet’s gaze, but then he seems to relax slightly, and nods. “It’s fine, Jet,” he says. He looks down at Rabbit, tightens his grip. “I’m escortin’ you out,” he tells her, and then heads for the door, pushing her on ahead of him.

Show Pony’s hovering over him suddenly, pressing a cloth into his hand. “Are you okay, Jet?” they ask, and their voice sounds softer than Jet’s ever heard it.

“Yeah,” he says. He presses the cloth to his nose, wincing, and absentmindedly wipes his bloody hand on his jeans. “Thanks.” He’s moving toward Party now, Pony at his side. He needs to make sure they’re alright.

“I don’t understand what that was about,” Show Pony’s saying. “I haven’t known Mad Rabbit very long, but she’s always been quiet, calm. I can’t imagine what would set her off like that-- _ did _ you do something, Jet Star?”

Jet’s only half-listening, too focused on Party. He reaches out automatically to touch Party’s cheek, but he catches sight of the blood on his hand--tacky, dried and streaky, but still unmistakable--and he freezes, staring at it.

His father’s hands, his father’s face, blood pooling at his feet, blood on  _ his _ hands, on Jet’s hands, a knife in his grip, green, green grass all around.

_ Not real, _ he tells himself, as he’s had to do so often. And it  _ isn’t _ real--it never happened, it isn’t a real memory. It was an illusion, forced on him by Apparition when he was still a teenager. But even as he thinks this, the image twists--the green grass morphs into the hot sand of the desert, his father shrinks down, smaller, and the figure in front of him reaches for their throat, choking. The figure’s face shifts, morphing into Mad Rabbit, staring at him in shocked silence while blood pools at her feet.

_ Not real! _ he tells himself again, but this time he’s less sure. Because what if it  _ is _ real? What if this one is a real memory, hidden beneath a false one?

How can he possibly know for certain?  
“--et. Fuck, Jet, can you hear me?”

Hands on his shoulders, shaking him. Not rough, but gentle. Warm, grounding. He blinks, and the harsh light and the sand and the blood fade away, and he’s standing in the bar under the soft neon glow, and Party’s gripping his shoulders and looking at him intently, worried.

He shakes his head, takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I--fuck. Party. Are you okay?” He reaches out and places his hand on Party’s hip, careful not to look down. His other hand is by his side, the cloth Show Pony had given him hanging limply from his fingertips. The blood flowing from his nose has slowed down, but it still runs down his face steadily.

“I’m fine, don’t worry ‘bout me, I can take a hit and she doesn’t punch that hard anyway, but, fuck, Jet. You started spacin’ out and shakin’-- _ are _ you okay?” Party takes the cloth from his hand, dabs carefully at the blood on his lip.

“Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t want to tell  Party about the images--the memories? Not here, at least, with Show Pony standing by and Monster Alarm and Kiwi Blast and several other rebels nearby, watching. “Sorry,” he says again.

Party glares at him, but it’s mostly for show and only half-hearted anyway. “What’ve we told you about apologizin’?” they say quietly. They pause, looking closely at the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t look like it’s broken, at least. Gotta be careful of it, though.”

“Good,” he says. “I fucked up our date, didn’t I?”

They make a scoffing sound, shake their head hard enough that their hair flies around them momentarily. “You didn’t fuck up anythin’. C’mon, let’s get you home and cleaned up. We can do date night some other time.”

“I’ll try to get everything sorted out with Rabbit,” Show Pony says quietly, and Jet turns his attention to them. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” says Party, frowning. “And make sure she knows if she so much as  _ looks _ at Jet again, I’ll tie ‘er up and leave ‘er for BL/ind.”

Jet sucks in a breath, tastes copper. “That’s...harsh,” he says. It’s all he can say right now.

“It’s what’s necessary,” they say, watching Show Pony disappear out the door.

“Hey, uh.” Monster Alarm’s standing in the spot Pony has just vacated, expression carefully neutral. “So, like, what happened was real shitty, and all, but, uh. We gonna finish the game, or--?”

Party turns to her, mouth open to deliver what Jet can only assume would be a snappish reply, but he interrupts them with a burst of laughter.

They both whip their heads around to look at him, startled, and that just makes him laugh harder. “Ow, fuck,” he says as the force of his laughter sends spikes of pain shooting through his face. “Ow, sorry, I just--Party, finish your game!”

“But--you’re  _ hurt--” _

“I’m okay,” he says, and he...well, he kind of is. If he pretends he isn’t covered in blood, ignores the pain in his face, and pushes his worries to the back of his mind, he’s technically fine. Sort of.

Party looks at him for a moment, studying him, then shakes their head, looks at Monster Alarm again. “Sorry. Rain check? I gotta get Jet home.”

“Sure,” Monster Alarm says, and doesn’t seem terribly upset. She calls to her friend over her shoulder. “Kiwi! Rack ‘em up, you ‘n’ me’re gonna have a showdown!”

“Sounds good,” Kiwi Blast says, and gets to work.

“Really, Party, I’m--”

“Jet,” they say, leaning close to him. “I’m not gonna have fun knowin’ you’re in pain. We’ll come back another time, it’s not like the bar’s goin’ anywhere.”

“Speaking of,” Kiwi Blast says, not looking up. “Did you hear ‘bout the barkeeper’s brother? Up and left in the middle of the night, apparently.”

“Fuckin’ sucks,” Monster Alarm says. She tilts her head back to look up at the ceiling. “Dunno  _ what _ I’d do if one’a  _ my _ pals left.”

“Good thing you don’t have to worry ‘bout that,” Kiwi Blast says cheerfully. “You’re stuck with the four of us.” He looks up from the table, glances between Party and Jet, and smiles. “You two go on home, yeah? Heal up. Feel better.”

“Thanks,” Party says. They take Jet’s hand--the cleaner of the two--and lead him across the room toward the door. “See ya ‘round,” they call over their shoulder, and receive two goodbyes in return.

The music fades away as they leave, giving way to the quieter atmosphere of the outdoors. Most of the bar’s patrons have moved inside, but there are still a few loitering out here, talking and smoking.

“What about Ghoul and Kobra?” Jet asks, because if they have to cut their night short, he at least wants to be sure his friends make it home safely.

“Right here,” says Ghoul from where he’s leaning against the side of the building. Jet barely manages to keep from jumping in surprise, squeezing Party’s hand tighter. “Damn, Jet,” he continues, looking him over. “She gotcha pretty good, huh?”

“Just my nose,” Jet mutters. Ghoul falls into step beside the two of them as they head for the car.

“Mm. Kobes took her away, talked to her. I dunno what he found out, but fuck. I don’t say this kinda thing much, but you need a  _ shower, _ man.”

“Holy shit, he’s not  _ that _ bad,” Party says, sounding scandalized.

“I mean, I kind of am?” Jet looks down and pulls at the front of his shirt. The fabric sticks to his chest, tugging at the hair, and he winces.

Party huffs, lets go of his hand to push him into the car. “Not bad enough for  _ Fun Ghoul _ to be the one pointin’ it out.”

Jet shrugs, sits down in the front seat. Ghoul may have bad hygiene, but even he doesn’t walk around covered in blood. Probably.

“Kobes,” Party says, which is the first indication he gets that Kobra’s joined them. “You take care of her?”

“Yeah,” Kobra says, getting into the backseat beside Ghoul. “She won’t be botherin’ us again, I’m sure.”

Jet doesn’t like the sound of that. It sounds ominous, threatening.

Party starts the engine. “Good. What the fuck was her deal, anyway?”

Jet tenses in his seat. Kobra keeps his telepathy a secret from most people, so Mad Rabbit wouldn’t have known to try and guard her thoughts from him. So, if Jet  _ had _ done something to her...well. Kobra would know now, wouldn’t he?

Kobra looks at him in the rearview mirror, opens his mouth to speak, but Jet interrupts him.

“I did something, didn’t I?” he says quietly, looking down at his hands clenched in his lap--and immediately away again when he sees the dried blood. He settles his gaze on Party’s knee.

“What the hell?” Party says. “Of course you didn’t, how could ya have? You’ve been with us the whole time you’ve been here, I--what?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mean recently. I mean...I don’t--I don’t know what I did. While I was--you know. Brainwashed.” He swallows, unsure of how to continue.

“Jet,” Party says, quietly, and Jet lifts his eyes to look at them.

It’s hard to make out much, the moon and the headlights of their own car the only light available to them, but he sees Party glance at him, just a split second before they’re watching the road again.

“Can I finish?” he asks, keeping his voice firm but insistent. “I don’t--you can talk to me, after I’m done, but I’d...like to say what I need to first.”

Surprisingly, it’s Ghoul who speaks up. “Sure,” he says, and then looks at Kobra. “What? He’s got somethin’ he wants to get off his chest, and he doesn’t need a nosy mindreader or a concerned datemate interruptin’ him.”

Party gives Jet a sheepish smile. “Ghoul’s right. For the first time in his fuckin’ life. Sorry, go ahead.”

Jet clears his throat. “Right. Thanks. So, uh--anyway.” He doesn’t actually know what he’s going to say, how to say it, but he needs to tell them. Because once they learn the truth, they’ll be able to decide once and for all what to do with him. “I just--I know they made me do...something after putting me through re-education.” He shakes his head, trying to focus on his words, and not on his memories, his emotions. “They never told me what I did, but--after, when the effects wore off and I was...myself again, they’d just--they’d seem so...pleased with me. With whatever I’d done.” He bites back the revulsion he feels, thinking of it. Blood on his hands, knife in his grip.

“So,” he continues, “so--what if I did something to her? To Rabbit?” Rabbit’s face, blood pooling on the sand below. “I wouldn’t know, would I? Because--” He chokes, clears his throat again. “Party. You shouldn’t have fought her. You got hurt, and it’s probably--”  _ my fault _ “--I probably did it, whatever it was, and--and, she--” 

Party shifts, and he looks up at them. They’re still focused on the road, but he can see them biting their lip. A moment later, he feels their hand come to rest on his knee, squeezing gently.

He takes a deep breath, continues. “I remember...something. Back there, I remembered--” Blood, knife, blood. “I thought it was an illusion, something Apparition made me see,  _ years _ ago, but--but what if it wasn’t? What if it was just a false memory to cover up a real one?” Blood, knife, his father’s hands, Rabbit’s face,  _ blood. _ He’s breathing harder, can’t seem to calm down, blood, his fingernails are digging into his palms, blood, blood, he’s trying to focus on Party’s hand on his knee but it’s so hard, there’s blood on his hands, blood at his feet, blood, blood,  _ blood! _

“That’s not a memory,” Kobra says, and Jet’s jolted out of his own head.

“I--what?”

“That isn’t a memory,” Kobra repeats. He leans forward, putting a hand on Jet’s shoulder over the back of the seat. “That image you keep bringing up in your mind. The sand, and the blood, and all that? It’s not a memory, it’s your brain playing tricks on you.” He puts both hands on Jet’s shoulders now, warm and grounding, like the hand on his knee.

“But--” Jet doesn’t want to get his hopes up. “But how do you know?”

“Everything’s shifting too much,” Kobra tells him. “Our memories shift all the time, whenever we remember ‘em, but it’s always little by little. When you picture this, everything changes only when you focus on details.”

Jet closes his eyes, listens to Kobra.

“The sand is grass until you start to think it might’a been sand. The girl’s a fully-grown man ‘til ya think it’s a girl. The girl’s not even Rabbit ‘til ya think she might be.” Kobra squeezes his shoulders, leans his cheek against the side of Jet’s head. “Can’t tell if the original memory’s real or not, but since ya thought it was an illusion before anyway, I’d say you were right.”

And that’s it. Jet sucks in a breath, his hands relaxing, his shoulders sagging. The relief he feels- _ -allows _ himself to feel--is, well. Immense. “You’re sure,” he says.

He feels Kobra nod. “Trust me.” He pulls away then, settling back into his seat. “And anyway, I was talkin’ to Mad Rabbit, and yeah--somethin’ pretty awful happened to her, but you didn’t have anythin’ to do with it.”

“I didn’t,” he repeats, and he feels almost weak with relief. “I didn’t...I really didn’t….” He didn’t do it. Whatever it was, he didn’t do it, and maybe that shouldn’t be enough for him, because he still knows there’s  _ something _ he did, something bad, but it isn’t anything he has to think about right now. He can put it off, forget about it, forget for a while that he’s less than innocent.

“We’re home,” Party says, and Jet blinks as the headlights flick off, the engine falling quiet.

Kobra pats his shoulder, slides his hand away again. “We’ll meet you inside,” he says. “Take your time.”

And then he’s gone, Ghoul with him, and it’s just Jet and Party in the darkness.

They’re quiet for a few moments, and Jet hears the diner door open and close before Party lets out a long, quiet sigh. “Well, that was a shit date, huh?”

Jet laughs, not having expected that to be the first thing Party says. “Kinda. Sorr--uh.” He’s pretty sure they’ll still get on his case for saying  _ sorry _ for things like this, things that aren’t entirely his fault. Is this his fault? No, Kobra had said he didn’t do it. It’s not his fault. “Uh, yeah. Uh. It was...not great.”

Party shifts in their seat, hand slipping from Jet’s knee, but he has only a split second to miss the feeling of it before Party’s propping their feet in his lap, laying across the seats and pressing their back against the driver’s side door. “It’s not your fault,” they say, which he thinks is an automatic response of theirs at this point. “You didn’t do it, s’not your fault she showed up and started shit. We’ll just have to have our first date some other time.”

Jet can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at that, even though the movement makes his nose throb in pain. “I think it would technically be our second date,” he says, a lightness in his tone.

Party snorts, leaning forward and toward him. “Yeah, like I’d let this shitfest count as our first date! Fuck off, no way!”

“Okay. This doesn’t have to be our first date. The cave was our first date. The next will be our second.”

“The cave? You mean during the sandstorm you almost fuckin’  _ died _ in? That’s not much better, Jet.”

“I didn’t almost die. And anyway, listen. You helped me through the sandstorm, walked miles through it  _ yourself _ just to come keep me company, and then you kissed me for the first time.” His grin widens, and he twists in his seat, reaching for Party. “I think it’s the best first date.”

“You obviously know nothin’ about dates,” Party says teasingly, and drops their feet to the floor, scooting forward and letting him pull them into his lap. It’s kind of cramped and awkward, but it’s better than sitting so far apart, just staring at each other. Their weight on him is comforting.

“I know dates are supposed to be happy,” he says, “and fun. And they probably have a lot of kissing usually, which I personally am a huge fan of.”

“All those things are true,” Party says in a voice barely above a whisper. “And even though this date sucked ass, doesn’t mean we can’t end it on a good note.”

Jet breathes out slowly, rests his hand on Party’s hip. Party leans in, their breath ghosting across his lips, and he lets his eyes fall closed.

“Oh my god, wait, ew!” Party exclaims suddenly, jerking back, and his eyes fly open.

“What--? Oh.” He touches his upper lip, still crusty and a little damp. Right. Blood. Kinda fucking gross, definitely not good for kissing. “Uh, right. Oops.”

Party huffs out a little laugh. “Alright, I’m not fuckin’ you while you’re covered in blood, so first order of business!” They press their index finger into his chest. “Take a fucking shower.” They open the door, sliding out of his lap.

And, okay, all previous grievances have been completely forgotten, or at least shoved  _ way _ into the back of his mind, because--yes, okay. He likes where this is going.

He gets out of the car as quick as he can. “Uh, yeah. Great. I will--I will do that.” He pauses, fumbling to close the car door behind him, and Party lets out their honking laugh, the one that makes Jet want to melt.

“Okay, babe, don’t get yourself too worked up about it.” He can barely see Party in what little light there is from the diner, from the moon, but he can see them lick their lips. “That’s my job,” they say, and their voice is so--so  _ sultry, _ Jet thinks for a moment that he might pass out.

He swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “Okay. Yeah. I’m gonna. Um. Go shower. Now. Uh.” He hasn’t taken a single step. “Do you--wanna come with?”

Party laughs again, steps forward and places one fingertip to Jet’s chin, tipping his face up slightly. “Jet,” they say. “I  _ could _ go with you. We  _ could _ do this in the shower.” Okay, yes, Jet likes where this is going. “But, trust me, it’s really not that sexy and knowin’ us, we’d prob’ly both fuckin’ slip and die.” They grin at him, drop their hand, and start for the front door of the diner. “I’ll be waiting,” they call over their shoulder. “You know where to find me when you’re all cleaned up.”

Jet hurries for the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the diner is full of dorks in love with other dorks and i can't believe it. :')
> 
> 1) Monster Alarm also appeared in chapter 2! the unnamed woman Party beats at pool. ace loved her a lot and made her into an actual oc, haha! they even designed her, Kiwi Blast, and the rest of their gang! https://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com/post/184949448146/asexualrinmatsuoka-hey-whats-up
> 
> 2) since it isn't actually addressed in-fic, "cupie" is a term the rebels use to refer to their non-romantic significant other, when they're in a queerplatonic relationship. it comes from "qp," which is short for "queerplatonic partner." Monster and Kiwi are in a qpr, just like me and ace! :D
> 
> 3) there's probably a lot of other stuff i could talk about here, but uhhh. hm. :) if you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them here! or on my tumblr: http://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com/ask/
> 
> see you next week! :D


	18. So Show Me What You Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a certain rumor going around the stronghold lately.  
> Jet puts his power to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 25! :D i'm at my brother's again because he got married on friday and tomorrow is his birthday!! <3
> 
> big thank you as always to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr [they changed their url a couple days ago and i'm SCREAMING]) for beta-reading and for always keeping me motivated!! <3
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: heavily implied sexual content/discussion of sex

Party wakes up after Jet does, which seems to be how it usually goes.

They open their eyes to darkness, of course, but they can feel Jet tucked around them, pressed up against their back with his arm draped over their waist. They know he’s awake because his fingers are tracing patterns into their skin, and his lips move slightly against the back of their neck--Party thinks maybe he’s saying something, but their brain is so sleep-fuzzy they can’t be sure.

They kind of want to just lay here forever, pretending to be asleep and enjoying this warm, tender,  _ safe _ feeling, but there are several reasons they can’t do that.

One of those reasons is that Jet seems to know when Party’s woken up, no matter how hard they try to act like they haven’t.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, shifting and stretching to kiss Party’s cheek. It’s more of a grazing of stubble across their skin than an actual  _ kiss _ involving lips and stuff, but Party would be lying if they said they didn’t fucking love it anyway.

“Hey,” Party says, their voice sounding a bit rough to their ears. They shift, turning to face him without leaving the comfort of his embrace. They can kind of see him in the dark, the outline of his nose and jaw, the whites of his eyes. Party smiles at him, leans in and kisses him properly, pressing up close against him and reaching up to latch their fingers in his curls.

“Mm--your hair’s gettin’ longer,” they say when they break apart again. His hair is really fuckin’ soft, especially after his shower last night, and the length is goddamn  _ phenomenal _ for tangling their fingers in.

Jet hums in reply, leaning in to nuzzle into their neck. “Ow,” he says, and changes the angle of his face against Party’s skin. Presumably he’s just smashed his bruised nose against their neck, something he had done way too often last night. After a moment, he says, lips brushing against their skin, “Used to have it really long.”

“Did you?” Party can’t really imagine Jet with long hair, but they bet he’d look  _ delicious. _ “Are ya gonna grow it out again, then?”

“Yeah. Only reason it’s short is because the execs thought I was too non-conformist,” he says. “Wanna get it really long again...I liked it that way.”

“You’ll be even more gorgeous than you already are. Hey, ya wanna really stick it to the BL/ind bastards?”

Jet chuckles, and Party’s pressed close enough that they can feel his body shake with the sound. “You know I do. What’s your plan?”

“Dye your hair,” they tell him. “Somethin’ real colorful, like…” they pause to think. Jet’s the kind of guy who suits pretty much any color, really, but-- “Purple! Yeah, you’d look real fuckin’ good with purple hair. Like, fuckin’...a cloud of purple hair. Oh my god.”

He laughs again, kisses them carefully, but enthusiastically. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know if it’s really my thing, but it would definitely piss ‘em off.”

“Hell yeah.The more color, the better. Getcha all dressed up, slap some purple in your hair, maybe some glitter? Or body paint? Mm, no, both. Definitely both. Getcha lookin’ like a real rebel, huh?”

“That might be a bit much,” Jet says, sounding amused. He ducks his head again, presses a kiss to Party’s throat, another to their jaw.  _ Fuck _ , this is goddamn  _ fantastic, _ they’re never leaving this mattress! They’re melting against him, legs intertwining with his just as he kisses their lips again.

And then the second reason they can’t laze around in bed all morning makes its appearance: their stomach growls, and Jet pulls back with a laugh.

“I guess we should get up,” he says.

“No,” Party whines, clutching him closer. “No, it is absolutely  _ not _ time to get up, it’s time to stay here and kiss some more and maybe even have lazy morning sex!”

“You need to eat,” Jet says, and the bastard sounds like he’s trying not to laugh at them.

“No I don’t!” Their stomach growls again, and they groan. “Fuck you,” they say to it. What the hell does their stomach know, anyway? Nothing! It knows  _ nothing _ of Party’s romantic plights!

“We both need to eat,” he says, and, fuck, he’s definitely laughing and now there’s no way to seduce him into staying in bed because he’s  _ laughing _ at their  _ noisy stomach _ and that’s incredibly un-fuckin’-sexy!

“Fine,” they huff, and roll away from him.

Jet sits up, stretching, and Party finds themself suddenly desperately wishing their window wasn’t boarded shut so they could admire him in the morning light.

Party reluctantly sits up, too, and then gets out of bed. It’s early enough that the sun hasn’t yet made the desert into a scorching deathtrap, but it’s still warm enough that Party’s sort of reluctant to put any clothes on. Maybe, if they refuse to get dressed, they can convince Jet to stay in all day….

They look over at Jet just as he’s pulling on a pair of pants, which is a shame because Jet looks absolutely  _ delectable _ without a single stitch on.

And now Jet’s reaching for a  _ shirt _ , and oh no no  _ no, _ that would just be a  _ travesty! _

“Jet!” Party screeches, and if Kobra wasn’t already awake, well, he is now. They also startle Jet into dropping his shirt, which is definitely a win.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned, and,  _ oops. _

“Yeah, I’m fine,” they say quickly. “But I won’t be if you put that shirt on!”

Jet picks the shirt up again, looking down at it. “Why?” he asks, hesitant. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a  _ shirt!” _ Party spits the word out, moves forward to press their hands against his chest, cupping his pecs. “Jet,” they say, in as serious a voice as they can muster. “You gotta promise me that as long as you live, you will never,  _ ever, _ let another shirt cover this absolute goddamn  _ masterpiece, _ okay?”

“I have to go outside, though,” he says, and Party can practically  _ hear _ him roll his eyes. They can definitely see him grinning, though, this fucker with his shiny teeth. 

“No you don’t!” Party argues, running their hands all over his chest and especially his belly now. “You don’t need to go outside ever again, and neither do I, we can just stay in here in various stages of nudity!”   
“Party,” he says, catching their wrists and stilling their hands. He kisses their forehead. “We can be naked later. Right now, we need to get dressed, eat, and then get to work.”

They sigh. “Stop sounding so  _ amused, _ ” they tell him, knowing they can’t really argue with him. Honestly, as much as they’d love to stay in here with him all day, they also know from experience it’s not a good idea. Food and water are important and you need to consume both regularly in order to live.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. He kisses their cheek, right below their eye, and then pulls away and slips the shirt on over his head, effectively hiding away that beautiful expanse of skin. 

They sigh, resigned, and turn to sift through a pile of clothes, pulling out some suitably clean clothes and putting them on. Oh, well. It was still a pretty good morning.

Once they’re dressed, they grab Jet’s hand and lean up to kiss him, careful to avoid his nose. “Okay,” they say, “let’s go see if there’s some fuckin’  _ beans _ in the cupboard! No Power-Pup for us this mornin’!”

“Sounds good to me, Party,” Jet says, letting Party pull him out the door and into the main room. “No offense, but I really can’t stand the stuff. I bet the dog food would taste at least a little better with some mustard, though.”

They halt in their steps. No. No way, Jet had  _ not _ just said that. They turn to look at him, now that they have light to see him in. They give him their most withering stare.

“What?” Jet asks, blinking at them.

“Mustard?” Party asks, incredulous. “You wanna put fuckin’  _ mustard _ on Power-Pup?  _ Mustard?!” _

__ “Yeah?” He’s confused, and that makes it  _ worse, _ because it means he  _ isn’t joking. _

“Oh my god.” Party scrunches their face up in disgust and turns away, dropping his hand and stalking away into the kitchen.  _ “Mustard,” _ they mutter to themself, and they hear Jet chuckle behind them.

“You’re lucky you’re cute and sweet and hot and nice and helpful and perfect, or this would be a  _ deal-breaker!” _ they tell him, glaring over their shoulder, but he only grins at them.

_ Fucker _ , Party thinks to themself, but the butterflies in their stomach disagree. They love this guy, and even if he likes something as abysmal as mustard, they’re not gonna give him up that easily.

\----------

 

It’s sort of weird, spending the morning running errands with Ghoul instead of directing Jet and Party from afar. Kobra hadn’t realized until just this moment, actually, how routine it had become for him. He hadn’t ever had a set schedule, had always just done whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted--assuming it wasn’t too hot or too cold to move.

Not that he’s saying it’s a bad thing, or a good thing that they have a routine in place now--just that it’s different. And weird to suddenly break from it like this. But Kobra wants Jet to test his powers closer to home, and they all need a little break from craziness--especially after last night, and what had happened with Mad Rabbit (and what he himself had seen in Rabbit’s memories)--so here he is, in Tommy Chow Mein’s shop yet again.

“You mother _ fucker, _ ” Ghoul says through clenched jaw and gritted teeth. Kobra rolls his eyes, folds his arms over his chest. Negotiating’s never been one of Ghoul’s strong suits, and Kobra can’t help but wonder why he always insists on opening them himself.

“Thirty carbons,” Tommy Chow Mein repeats, tone firm.

“Sixty!” Ghoul says, thrusting his forefinger at him. “Sixty carbons, ‘cause this tech is fuckin’ hard to get ahold of undamaged, and even harder to take apart without bustin’, and damn near  _ impossible  _ to recalibrate! Sixty fuckin’ carbons!”

“Thirty-five,” Tommy says with a shrug, and Ghoul lets out a growl and moves like he’s gonna jump the counter, which is Kobra’s cue to step in.

“Fifty carbons,” he says, placing a hand on Ghoul’s shoulder. Ghoul falls still, his muscles still tense, but no longer like he’s in danger of leaping over the counter and throttling the only actual shopkeeper in the stronghold.

Tommy Chow Mein turns his attention to Kobra and smiles--a calculated expression, Kobra knows. “Thirty-five,” he says, “and a case of Power-Pup.”

Ghoul bristles, but Kobra stands firm, unmoving. A case of Power-Pup is nothing to sneeze at, but they have more than enough stocked up at home for now. Carbons are more important, because they’re after  _ actual _ food, plus gas for both the car and the generator. He shakes his head. “Fifty carbons,” he says again, because honestly, a re-purposed BL/ind tracker is useful as hell and Tommy can probably sell it for double by the end of the week. They should honestly just start selling their stuff directly to people instead of going through middlemen, but, well, it takes too much time and effort for either of them to bother with.

Tommy looks at him carefully for a moment, then turns his attention back to the tracker in front of him. After a few tense seconds, he sighs and nods. “Fifty,” he agrees, and swipes the tracker off the counter.

Kobra holds his hand out, and Tommy slips the payment to him. Kobra nods, passes the carbons to Ghoul, and then steers him in between two of the shop’s shelves.

“Not bad,” he says, examining this week’s newest stock on the shelf behind Ghoul. “Oh shit, canned chicken.” He picks one up, looks at the BL/ind label. It’s been forever since they had actual meat.

“Was still worth more’n that,” Ghoul mutters, leaning against the shelf. “Those things are fuckin’ hard to recalibrate without blowin’ up.”

“I know.” Kobra picks up another can of chicken, looks over the rest of the available food. “You’re good at it, too. Haven’t even lost any fingers yet. Can you grab that bread?”

Ghoul follows Kobra’s gesture, bends down and grabs one of the few loaves of bread from the bottom shelf. It’s clearly homemade, uneven and denser than the perfectly-proportioned BL/ind loaves that sometimes make their way out here. “Looks like Red and Hen smuggled this stuff out pretty recent, huh?” Ghoul says, passing it to Kobra.

Kobra nods, holding the bread carefully so he doesn’t squish it. Red and Hen are two of the more well-known city-based rebels, always sneaking out only the best stuff into the desert, and especially to this stronghold in particular. Kobra’s pretty sure they make all the bread they send out themselves, and since Ghoul loves the stuff, Kobra always makes sure to get a loaf when it’s available, no matter how short on funds they are.

They continue stocking up on supplies, and since there aren’t many people in here, Kobra doesn’t feel the need to throw up his mental shields. If he gets overwhelmed, he figures he can just focus on Ghoul’s thoughts for a bit, but for now, he’s just open to everyone’s thoughts, buzzing quietly around him.

He hears people worrying about money, comparing nutritional content on two similarly-priced cans, thinking about rain and gardens--oh, that’s nice, Jet will like to hear about that--wondering about a friend they haven’t seen in a while, something about Show Pony’s party--

Kobra snorts when he hears this particular thought. He looks around, quickly locating the rebel who’d been thinking it, and stealthily moves closer.

He’s conversing with another rebel, and Kobra doesn’t think twice about eavesdropping--never does, since he hears everyone’s thoughts anyway--but especially since this particular subject is one he’s been hearing quite a bit about lately.

They’re talking about Jet Star, and specifically about a rumor pertaining to him that Kobra never fails to find amusing.

He hears a snicker beside him, and he glances over to see that Ghoul’s followed him, and has clearly heard the same thing Kobra has. They share an amused look between them.

Looks like it’s about time to clue Jet in on the stronghold’s current favorite rumor.

 

\----------

 

“I can’t believe Kobra gave us the morning to ourselves,” Party says, pouting from the table they’re perched on, “and you wanna spend it  _ cleaning _ !”

Jet laughs lightly, piling more empty cans and other garbage into the box he’d unearthed. “I want to clean up while there’s light to see by,” he says. “We have plenty of time for--” what had Party said earlier? Oh, right. “- _ -bedroom shenanigans _ later.”

Party groans, kicking out with their feet and leaning back on the table. “Fuck,” they say.  _ “You’re _ the one who’s new to all this,  _ you’re _ supposed to be the horny one, not  _ me! _ Anyway, I don’t see why  _ we _ have to clean all this up! Make Ghoul and Kobra do it! Or just leave it! It’s been like this for years, it’s not botherin’ anybody!”

Jet elects not to respond to that first part, because even though they’re exaggerating their horniness (they’re not actually as insatiable as they act, Jet’s--well, Jet’s like 85% sure of that), he’s still pretty sure there’s no chance of  _ him _ being nearly as, uh... _ amorous _ as Party is. 

He moves closer and presses a quick kiss to Party’s lips, ignoring the painful way the pressure agitates the bruises around his nose. “You know,” he says, pulling away, “If you actually help me clean up, we might have time for that before Kobra and Ghoul get back.”

Jet’s seen Party fight. He’s seen them run. And yet he doesn’t think he’s ever seen them move as fast as they do now, hopping off the table and frantically scooping garbage into Jet’s box.

Jet laughs so hard he doubles over, clutching his gut, and when he looks up again, he sees Party standing there, an empty Power-Pup can in one hand and a crumpled paper sack in the other, staring at him with a wounded expression. He laughs again, not as hard but definitely as delighted.

_ “What?” _ Party exclaims, sounding offended. They drop the trash into the box and put their hands on their hips. “What the hell are you laughin’ at,  _ Jet Star?” _

__ He tries to swallow back his laughter, shakes his head, can’t hide his grin. “Sorry,” he says, knowing he doesn’t sound sorry at all, “I just--you’re so  _ eager _ , I’m--”

“Of  _ course _ I’m eager!” Party says. “My boyfriend just told me he’d fuck me senseless if I helped him clean up, holy shit!”

“Okay, that’s, um, that’s not what I said.” 

“It was implied!” Party pouts again. “And even if it wasn’t I’d accept similar activities or even just a bunch more kissin’!”

“Okay,” Jet says, stepping closer and cupping Party’s face in his hands. “Party. I appreciate your enthusiasm.” Which is a bit of an understatement--it’s one of the things he loves most about Party. Their relentless ability to be so entirely  _ themself _ , mostly, but the more immediate example of Party apparently being unable to keep their hands off him isn’t exactly unwelcome, either. Except for right now. While he’s trying to get something done. “But,” he continues, “we have time for that later.” He kisses them, keeping it soft and gentle. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right? We have time.”

Party sighs. “I know,” they say, and instead of resigned, like he’d thought they’d be, they sound...well,  _ happy. _ “You’re in it for the long haul,” they say, “and so am I.” They lean in and kiss him again.

Jet’s starting to think that maybe he  _ will _ have to abandon his plans of tidying up the diner when their kissing is suddenly and rudely interrupted by--

“Hey guys,” Ghoul calls, slamming the door open and causing Jet and Party to jump apart. “We got some fuckin’  _ news _ for ya!”

Party groans, loud and exaggeratedly obnoxious, throwing their head back to glare up at the ceiling. “Do you  _ mind?” _ they say, shifting so the full force of their glare lands on Ghoul. “I was  _ busy!” _

“Busy distracting me,” Jet chuckles, stepping back and bending down to pick up the garbage box. It’s almost full, and then...he doesn’t quite know what he’ll do with all the trash yet, just that he has to get it out of here. “So what’s the news?” he asks, straightening up.

Ghoul’s smirking, and that’s...a little worrying, to say the least. Behind him, Kobra’s stone-faced, as usual. He moves forward and sets a torn paper sack of groceries on the counter, shrugs.

“Some pretty interestin’ things,” he says. “For one thing, ya know those ‘mysterious’ rainstorms we’ve been gettin’?”

“Uh--you mean my storms?” Jet asks, curious. “What about them?”

“Apparently, people’ve been able to store up enough water from ‘em that some of ‘em are actually able to start growin’ things out here.”

Jet blinks, shifting the box in his grip. “Growing things? You mean--” No. No  _ way. _ His power is--actually  _ helping _ people?

Kobra nods. “Growin’ things. Gardens. Fresh produce, growin’ right here in our own stronghold.” He gives Jet one of his rare smiles, the corners of his lips curving up just slightly. “Like I told ya,” he says. “There’s more to your power than just destruction. Always a silver linin’, and all that.”

“Yeah,” Jet says, grinning back at him. It’s something he’s been growing more comfortable with--the thought that his power isn’t  _ just _ worst-case scenario disasters, isn’t  _ just _ destructive, that even though he can’t choose what he creates, he can still use what he  _ does _ create to help, somehow.

It’s comforting, and he’s glad his rainstorms have been able to help people somehow.

“Tell ‘em the other news!” Ghoul says gleefully, and Jet purses his lips, glancing over at him. More news? News  _ better _ than growing food out here, if Ghoul’s expression is anything to go by? What could it possibly be?

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” says Kobra, in a way that implies he’d done no such thing. “Jet has a big dick.”

Jet startles so hard he fumbles the box in his hands, spilling garbage all over the floor and immediately negating a half hour’s worth of work. “Excuse me?!” he cries. “I--a  _ what?” _

“A giant pecker,” Kobra says with an amused snort.

“An enormous schlong!” Ghoul chimes in.

Kobra nods. “A magnum dong.”

“A massive--”

_ “Okay!” _ Jet interrupts, and his whole face feels like it’s on  _ fire, _ he’s so embarrassed. “Okay, I get it, but--why the hell--who  _ said _ that?” He shoots a look at Party, but they look just as shocked as he feels.

“Some guy at Tommy Chow Mein’s,” Ghoul says. 

Party shakes themself, their expression morphing once more into a glare aimed at Ghoul. “Who’s talkin’ about my man’s baloney pony?” they ask.

Jet makes a weird high-pitched sound he can’t explain. “Don’t call it--why would you--oh my god!” he says emphatically, apparently unable to form coherent sentences.

Kobra shrugs. “The guy was just repeatin’ what he’d heard from someone else,” he says. “Pretty much everyone in the area knows about Jet’s gigantic dick now.”

“I don’t have a--why are people--oh my  _ god?” _ Of all the things Jet would have expected people to say about him, this was  _ not _ it!

“Kobra!” Party says, pointing their finger threateningly in their brother’s face. “Why is everyone talkin’ about Jet’s dick?!”

He rolls his eyes. “Remember Pony’s party a few weeks ago?”

“Obviously,” Party says, at the same time that Jet manages a weak “Yeah.”

“Well, apparently someone--a few someones, actually--heard it from the man himself.”

Three sets of eyes turn toward Jet. He swallows nervously, wonders if it’s possible to pass out from embarrassment.

“Jet,” Party says, their eyes narrowing dangerously. “Did you tell people at Show Pony’s party that you have a big dick?”

“No!” he exclaims, shaking his head frantically. “Why would I--? That’s  _ private information!” _

“Apparently,” Kobra continues, still sounding far too amused by this whole thing, “he said, and I quote, ‘I’m a big boy’ to an audience of at least ten people.”

Party bursts out laughing. “Oh my god!” they say. “Oh my  _ god!” _

“Oh my god,” Jet agrees, in a completely different tone. Because, oh fuck, he actually  _ does _ remember this now, but-- “Oh my god, no! That’s--I wasn’t talking about my--” he lowers his voice to a quiet hiss, “--penis!”

Ghoul’s laughing now, too, bent nearly in half and clutching at his belly. “They--” he interrupts himself with a giggle. “They--the guy, the guy at the shop! He saw us standin’ there, and he just fuckin’--he walked up to us and asked us--he fuckin’  _ asked _ us! If we were friends with ‘the guy with the huge dick!’ He just  _ fuckin’ said _ that! I can’t--oh my god, it was hilarious, you should’ve  _ been _ there, man!”

“No! I don’t want to--” Why the hell would Jet want to be put through the ordeal of a  _ stranger _ walking up to him and asking him about  _ something like that? _ “He just  _ walked up to you?” _

Kobra nods. “Asked if you were single, too.”

Party’s laughter cuts off then, and they open their mouth to say something, but Kobra stops them.

“I said he was with you,” Kobra says with another roll of the eyes, “and then he said, ‘Poison’s fuckin’ lucky.’”

“Kobes!” Ghoul jumps up, grabbing onto Kobra’s arm. “Don’t leave out the best part!”

“I’m gettin’ there.” Jet does  _ not _ want to hear what  _ Ghoul _ considers the  _ best part, _ but it’s already too late to make his escape. Kobra continues, “Anyway, so he says ‘Poison’s fuckin’ lucky,’ then he asks if you’d share.”

Jet feels like he’s about to sink into the floor. Party lets out an indignant squawk.

“Yeah,” says Kobra. “I told him you’d say that.”

“Oh my god,” Jet says yet again. He sinks into one of the vinyl seats and buries his face in his hands, ignoring the pain it causes his bruised tissue. “I can never go out in public again!”

“Oh yes you can, babe,” Party says, still laughing, and he feels the seat move as they sit beside him. “It could be worse! They could’ve said you had a small dick!”

“That’s not--oh my god, that’s not  _ worse! _ ” Jet looks up from his hands, attempts to glare at them. “How would that be  _ worse? _ Why’re they talking about my--about  _ me _ at all?”

“Because you’re fresh blood, and hot as hell, and have a big dick? Which you’re apparently confident enough in to brag about in public. Also, you’re datin’  _ me, _ the infamous Party Poison! Face it, Jet, you’re a  _ catch.” _

__ Jet’s going to  _ die. _

“You’re not gonna die,” Kobra says, “And it’s fuckin’ hilarious.Gotta be careful whatcha say around here, Jet. Everyone loves to talk.” He lifts the bag off the counter and carries it into the kitchen, starts putting groceries away.

“Yeah,” says Ghoul, sitting down on the floor despite the fact that there are several seats available nearby, “like, ya shoulda heard all the stuff goin’ around about  _ Party.” _

“Oh, yeah,” Party says, nodding in agreement. “People fuckin’  _ love _ to talk about me. Sometimes rumors about me even make their way to other strongholds! It’s fuckin’ awesome!”

Jet just looks at them. How can they think rumors being spread is  _ awesome? _ Back in the city, he always took care not to let himself get noticed, in case one of the execs caught wind of him doing anything besides obeying orders.

_ ‘You know these aren’t those kind of rumors, right?’ _ Kobra thinks to him, not looking his way or seemingly paying him any attention.  _ ‘No one’s gonna try and kill ya or whatever over dick size.’ _

“Like for example,” Party says, completely unaware of the fact that their brother is also trying to hold a conversation with Jet, “My pool-playin’ skills are  _ legendary, _ people come from all over the desert to challenge me!”

“They come from, like, the two closest strongholds,  _ sometimes,” _ Ghoul says with a snort.

Jet focuses on Kobra.  _ ‘I mean--that’s good to know, I didn’t really think anyone would kill me over... _ that... _ but I still--rumors have always been bad news to me, people talking about me without my knowledge, it--it’s  worrying, anyway, and the subject matter doesn’t really help anything!’ _

“Excuse  _ you!” _ Party says, and Jet can’t see their face because they’re looking away from him, down at Ghoul, but they’re probably either glaring or making an exaggeratedly shocked expression. “Just two months ago I had that guy come over from way east, remember?”

“He was travellin’ and stopped by the bar for a drink when he  _ saw _ you playin’,” Ghoul says. “Those rumors don’t go that far!”

_ ‘You don’t need to worry,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘Rumors like that are just how we all entertain ourselves. We don’t got much out here, otherwise.’ _

__ _ ‘Okay, but why  _ me?’

_ ‘Like Party said: You’re new and mysterious.’ _

__ _ ‘Pretty sure that’s not what Party said.’ _

__ Kobra snorts from the kitchen, but no one pays him any mind; Party and Ghoul are too busy arguing.  _ ‘That’s the basics of what they said, and I’m not about to tell you you’re drop-dead gorgeous or whatever.’ _

__ “Uh,” says Jet, because he isn’t sure whether Kobra just called him hot or not.

_ ‘Definitely not,’ _ Kobra thinks to him, frowning across the room at him.  _ ‘You’re not my type. Too tall.’ _

__ “Babe, are you  _ listening _ to this? Do you  _ hear _ what this little gremlin is sayin’ about me? Babe? Jet, are you listenin’?”

“Hm?” Jet blinks at Party, who’s staring at him now. “Oh, uh, yeah. Your pool playing is astounding.”

“Oh my god, you really weren’t listening. Like, that’s fine ‘cause I wasn’t even talkin’ to you anymore but it’s kinda out of character for you, are you okay?”

Kobra snorts again, and Party turns toward him.

“Were you monopolizin’ my boyfriend’s attention?” Party asks accusingly. “You can’t do that, it’s  _ my _ job!”

“Was just reassurin’ him about the rumors,” Kobra says, walking around to their side of the kitchen counter again. 

“And telling me I’m too tall,” Jet mutters. He rolls his eyes up toward the ceiling, gives an exasperated sigh. “You’re all ridiculous,” he says. He’s actually feeling much better about the whole thing now that they’re not discussing his...intimate details.

“Too tall for  _ what?” _ Party asks, shooting looks between Jet and Kobra. “Kobra! Kobes,  _ what _ is Jet too tall for?”

Kobra bends down and picks Ghoul up off the floor. 

“Hey, assface, what the  _ hell?” _ Ghoul complains, wriggling in Kobra’s grip. “Fuck, let me down, what are you doin’?”

Kobra does set Ghoul back on his feet, planting a kiss on top of his head as he does so. “Just makin’ a point,” he says.

“So you told my boyfriend he was too tall to be picked up and smooched and coddled? That’s a goddamn  _ falsehood, _ Kobra, I smooch and coddle my boyfriend all the time  _ and _ I can totally pick him up!” Party leaps to their feet, spinning around and holding a hand out to Jet. “C’mon, babe, let’s show Kobra a thing or two!”   
“Uh,” says Jet, barely holding back his laughter. “That’s--that’s not what he was sayin’, uh--”

“Yes it was,” Kobra says, slinging his arms over Ghoul’s shoulders and resting his chin on top of his head. “That’s exactly what I was talkin’ about. I’m a better datemate than you because I pick my boyfriend up and kiss him. Clearly.”

“Boyfriend doesn’t wanna be picked up! Fuck you, I’m outta here,” Ghoul complains, but he doesn’t make any move to get away from Kobra, so Jet figures it’s more for show than anything else.

“See?! Jet, quick, I have to reclaim my title as best datemate, hurry, let me pick you up!” Party grabs his hand and pulls at him, and the fact that Jet barely budges should really tell them that their task is impossible, but somehow Jet thinks it just makes them even more determined.

“Okay, okay, hang on--” Jet gets up out of his booth, shoots a glare at Kobra for starting all this and a second glare at Ghoul for being an accomplice, then looks at Party. “...Don’t hurt your back,” he tells them.

Party scoffs.  _ “I’m _ not the one who tried to princess-carry someone while runnin’ from the bad guys, am I?”

Ghoul laughs. “Wait, what? Jet. Did you fuckin’ carry Party around like a princess?”

“He did,” Kobra says, smirking in that miniscule way of his.

Jet feels his face heat up again, and he groans. “It seemed appropriate at the time!”

“The only time the princess carry is appropriate is when you’re bein’ romantic, not--oh wait, holy shit, oh my god!” Party sounds suddenly elated. “You wanted to get with this the minute you saw me, didn’t you? Oh my god, Jet, why didn’t you tell me? We coulda smooched while we were makin’ our big escape, it woulda been fuckin’  _ priceless!” _

“I--I didn’t!” Jet’s voice cracks slightly, and he knows they won’t believe him. “I--okay, yeah, I thought you were pretty, but I was more interested in escaping than in- _ -smooching- _ -and anyway I was most certainly not thinking of  _ romance _ at that time!” That’s true. He hadn’t started thinking about romance until...well. He was definitely in the desert at the time. Maybe it was that time Party cupped his face and told him everything would be okay after he knocked down their house.  _ Was _ that it? He’s not sure.

“Aw,” Party coos, “you thought I was pretty? From the moment you laid eyes on me? That’s fuckin’  _ cute, _ oh my god, wait so when  _ did _ you start thinkin’ about romance? Was it at Pony’s party, when you told everyone you had a big dick, or was it before that? It was definitely sometime in the first week, Jet, but when? Jet. Jet I gotta know. Jet when did you start thinkin’ you wanted to get with me? I wanted to get with you the first day you did training, because you flashed your gorgeous tummy at me and I was like ‘oh fuck yum’ but then Kobra said somethin’ and you got all embarrassed and hid it away again and I knew the only way I’d get to see it again was if we dated and then I--”

“Can we--oh my god--can you please just pick me up, please?” Jet doesn’t think he could possibly be blushing anymore than he is right now. Kobra and Ghoul are laughing. At him? At Party? Does it matter?

“Holy shit, Jet, you bet I can!” Party’s apparently not too upset at Jet for having interrupted their rant, because they beam at him, step forward, and slide their arms behind his back and his knees.

“Wait, Party--be careful--don’t drop me on my face!” Jet says, twisting slightly to grab onto Party’s shoulders as they...actually lift him up?

Jet knows he’s gaping, but he can’t help it. Party smirks at him, holding him in their arms without any trouble at all, apparently.

“Holy shit,” Jet whispers, and Party plants a kiss on his forehead before gently setting him back down. “Were you--did you use your power?”

“Nope! All muscle, baby.” They flex, and Jet thinks he might die, and then they say, “Pretty fuckin’ good, huh?” They throw him a wink, and, oh fuck. Jet hadn’t actually thought Party would be able to pick him up--especially not with such  _ ease- _ -and now--well.

“Uh,” he says, and clears his throat. “Uh, bedroom?”

Party pumps their fist in the air. “Fuck  _ yes!” _ they exclaim. “Best datemate award goes to  _ me! _ ” They grab his hand again and start tugging him toward the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Kobra says behind them. “You guys, we have  _ work _ to do.”

Jet stops, guilty, halfway to the door and Party groans again.

“Seriously!” they say. “Seriously. Some alone time with my hot boyfriend. Please!”

“You had over an hour of ‘alone time,’” Kobra says. “Now it’s work time. Jet! We’re gonna test your power.”

“Uh?” he asks. “I thought we weren’t training today?” And it’s almost afternoon now, so he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have time to trek out to the middle of the desert to train--not unless he wants to risk heatstroke or whatever other deadly sun-related diseases people can get.

“We’re trainin’,” Kobra says, pulling away from Ghoul. “But not out there.” He nods toward the window. “We’re trainin’ right out here.”

 

\-----------

 

Besides that first time Jet had used his power, when he’d taken out half the diner, Ghoul hasn’t seen him use it.

He’s heard about it, from Kobra and Party--seen what it can do from here, with the clouds and the rain and the sand--but he hasn’t actually seen him use it since he stood here, shaking and angry, and brought their house down.

So, needless to say, Ghoul is pretty fucking excited to see what he’ll do now that he’s got a month of training with Kobra under his belt.

Jet stands in the empty stretch of sand between the diner and the workshop, while Ghoul, Kobra, and Party all hover near the workshop, watching him.

He looks a little nervous, but not nearly as bad as he had that other time--then, he’d looked like he was gonna shake himself right out of his boots or somethin’, downright  _ terrified, _ but now he’s standing taller, his head held high, and only the slight frown on his face gives him away as feeling anything other than confident.

Ghoul’s sitting in the sand, his legs stretched out in front of him. If it was earlier in the day he’d probably take his pants off, because these jeans kinda irritate him right now, but the sun’s high enough and it’s hot enough that if he did, he’d probably get sunburnt and then Kobra and Party--and probably Jet, too--would all lecture him on the importance of clothing in the desert.

Whatever, he’ll just ignore the feeling and watch Jet. Hopefully whatever he does with his power will give him a good show. More explosions, less collapsing homes.

“Okay,” says Jet. “Uh, where do you want me to aim it?”

“That rock, there,” Kobra says, pointing to one of the boulders near the diner. It’s not too big, but it’s definitely bigger than Ghoul is, and it’s set farther from the other rocks nearest it.

“Okay,” Jet says again. “I’m going to--um, just be careful, right? Keep an eye out for danger. I’ll shut down anything I can, but meteorites and damaged structures, well. I can’t do anything about those once they’ve started.”

Ghoul sits up straight when Jet mentions meteorites. “Jet, if you hit that rock with another rock and they both explode, I’ll give you my share of Power-Pup for a week!”

“Um,” Jet says. “Okay, one: I can’t control what happens. Two: No thank you, I’d rather give  _ you _ all  _ my _ Power-Pup.”

“Hell yeah,” Ghoul says, grinning at him. “I fuckin’  _ accept!” _

“Ghoul,” Kobra says, and Ghoul looks up at him to see him smirking-though he’s watching Jet and not him. “You’re gross.”

“None of you know good cuisine when you come across it,” Ghoul tells him. Because it’s true! Yeah, peaches and fresh bread are great, but nothing’s as filling as Power-Pup is.

Kobra snorts, glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, and looks over at Jet again. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

Party, standing closer to Jet than Ghoul and Kobra are, lets out a cheer. “You can do it, babe!” they say. “Bust that rock the  _ fuck _ open!”

“We’ll see,” Jet says, throwing a grin over at them. He closes his eyes then, just for a second, and then he opens them, taking a steady breath and focusing on the rock. Ghoul sits forward, peering around Kobra’s legs to watch the rock better. He hopes it explodes.

For a long moment, there’s nothing. Ghoul’s a little disappointed, honestly. He’d thought it would be an instant thing, with how much Jet and Kobra’ve been training.

And then there’s a blinding flash, and an explosion of sound. Ghoul squeezes his eyes shut, feels Kobra move beside him, hears the deafening silence that comes when Kobra uses his power to move sound around.

Ghoul opens his eyes once he feels it’s safe to do so and sees Jet standing just where he had been, looking down at a pile of stones and pebbles laying in the sand about a foot in front of him. He looks at the boulder--or, rather, where the boulder had  _ been, _ because it sure as hell isn’t there anymore.

“Holy shit!” he says, jumping to his feet. “You blew it up!”

“I did,” Jet says, shooting a smile across at them all. “Lightning strike. Thanks for the shield, Kobra,” he adds with a chuckle, and Ghoul notices he doesn’t sound nervous at all now, despite the fact that he probably would've got brained by flying rocks if it wasn’t for Kobra’s quick thinking.

“Fuck yeah, Jet!” Party calls. They move to run over to them, but Kobra reaches out and grabs them by the back of their jacket, yanking them back toward them. 

“Again,” Kobra says with a nod to Jet. He lets go of Party, points at a Joshua tree in the distance. “The tree this time.”

Jet nods, and his expression is more determined than anything else now. He turns to face the tree, takes a breath, and a moment later--

“Oh shit,” Ghoul says. The tree’s suddenly become a big ball of flame, seemingly out of nowhere, and that’s actually pretty cool. 

A few seconds after the fire had started, it’s out again, leaving behind a charred trunk.

“Again,” Kobra says, not giving anyone else a chance to speak. He points to a pile of scrap metal Ghoul has stacked in front of the workshop, pieces and parts too small or useless for him to use for anything anymore.

Jet turns, takes a breath, and  _ stares _ at the pile of metal. Ghoul waits, watching, counts his heartbeats-- _ one, two- _ -and the metal begins to corrode, some pieces rusting, others twisting and groaning. Within seconds, the whole pile is unrecognizable, and there’s a sharp metallic tang in the air.

“Good,” says Kobra, and when Ghoul looks at him, he sees his eyes glinting with pride. Ghoul’s proud, too--he knows better than most how hard it is to embrace something so deadly, yet so unquestionably a part of yourself.

“Oh my god, Jet, I knew you could do it! Hell yeah!” Party dashes forward, and this time Kobra lets them go. They wrap their arms around Jet’s neck, kiss him soundly on the lips.

“You’re a good teacher, Kobes,” Ghoul says, grinning at him. “Guess we don’t have to worry about the roof fallin’ on us in the middle’a the night anymore, huh?”

“Only ‘cause I’ve got good students,” Kobra says. He puts his hand on Ghoul’s cheek, kisses his forehead, then drops his hand and turns, striding over to Jet and Party. He opens his arms, pulls them both into a hug, and Ghoul can see the way Jet’s eyes widen in surprise for just a moment before Kobra’s body obscures him from view.

Ghoul laughs. Group hug? Fuck yeah, he’s gotta get  _ in _ on this!

 

\----------

 

It’s way easier to control his power here than he’d thought it would be. He’s keenly aware of the buildings nearby, of Party and Kobra and Ghoul watching him, but instead of distracting him, it feels like it actually...strengthens his focus. Makes it easier for him to aim, to keep his power directed at the rock and the tree and the scrap pile. 

He doesn’t want to hurt them, doesn’t want to destroy their home, so he doesn’t.

He’s expecting Party’s embrace, the press of their lips against his, and he returns them both easily. What he isn’t expecting, though, is for Kobra to come over and wrap them both up in his arms. 

Jet’s hold on Party loosens just slightly as he  gapes at Kobra, but Kobra just looks... _ happy. _ And Jet’s happy, too. He pulls one arm away from Party, pulls Kobra closer, hugs them both as tight as he can because he’s so proud of himself, so thankful for the both of them, so glad--

_ “Group hug!” _ he hears Ghoul cry, and he has only a split second of awareness before Ghoul is throwing himself off the roof of his workshop and straight into the three of them.

They all go down into the sand, Jet’s shoulder slamming down hard as what seems to be the bulk of Ghoul’s weight lands on him. All the air gets pushed out of his lungs, and for a moment he can’t breathe, but he hears Party say,  _ “Ghoul, _ you absolute fucking  _ goblin, _ I’m gonna  _ kill _ you!”

“You can’t kill me,” Ghoul says from where he’s clinging to Jet’s chest. “I’m immortal and also your brother’s boyfriend and you’re too soft to kill your brother’s boyfriend.”

“He’s right,” Kobra says. He sounds a bit muffled, and Jet thinks he’s underneath Ghoul’s legs.

Jet coughs, blinking up at the sun as he gets his breath back. “You guys--” he says, coughs again. He can’t help but laugh, laying on his back in the sand with three people on top of him. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Hell yeah we are,” Party says. They twist, half-sitting up, and lean over him, their head blocking out the sun. “And you love us.”

Jet grins up at them, their halo of red hair backlit by the sun and making his heart skip a beat. He tilts his head, looks at Ghoul grinning at him from his chest, looks at Kobra blinking at him from where he, too, is now sitting up.

Jet laughs again, letting his head fall back into the sand. “I do,” he says to all of them. “I really, really do.”

And this, he thinks, this is what it’s like to have a family. A crazy, ridiculous, loving family who would all do anything for each other. This is what it’s like to have people who love you, who can go from teasing you to defending you to supporting you at the drop of a hat. This is what it’s like to have a place where you belong, people you belong  _ with. _

He could get used to this feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much of this chapter was planned way back in early march! i'm so glad to see it finally published!! :D i love this Disaster Family so much ;A; <3
> 
> this chapter is the final chapter of Act 2. next week we begin the 3rd and final act, so i hope you'll all be prepared....! ;)
> 
> feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed! :D


	19. When They Take From You Almost Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An early-morning visitor comes bearing bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 26! :D
> 
> HUGE thank you to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading! i was stuck on this chapter for a while, trying to make it as perfect as possible, and i probably never would have been happy with it without their help. love you ace!!
> 
> this is the first chapter of the third and final act. i hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of death and brainwashing.

It’s a few days later that Jet’s awakened by a frantic knocking on the door.

The sound startles him awake, but he’s still feeling foggy. “Party,” he murmurs, nudging them. “Party,” he says again when they don’t move, a little louder and more coherent this time.

Party groans to life, turning and flopping onto their back to look at him. “What?” they ask. “There’s no way it’s time to get up yet. Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t know,” Jet says, sitting up and kicking the blankets off his legs, “but someone’s knocking at the door.”

“What? No one knocks on our door,” Party grumbles. They turn back onto their side, facing away from him and curling into a ball. “Seriously, go back to sleep.”

Jet’s about to reply when the knock sounds again, louder this time.

Party sits up. “Fuck,” they whisper. “Someone’s knockin’ on our door.

“That’s what I said,” Jet tells them, rolling his eyes. He fishes a pair of pants up off the floor and tugs them on over his underwear. They’re a little too tight and don’t button at the top, so they’re probably actually Party’s pants, but he’s in too much of a rush to care right now. 

“Come on,” he says, gesturing Party forward. He’s not scared, exactly, but this is the first time someone’s come to their front door since he’s been here, and even  _ Party _ is surprised by it, so he’d rather have backup than just open the door to what might be an attack.

Although, why an attacker would  _ knock _ instead of just coming in while they’re all asleep, he doesn’t know.

Party jumps up off the mattress and pulls a shirt on over their head--it’s too big for them and hangs a little past their hips, so it must be one of his. Quickly, they both step into the hallway and make their way to the front door. Kobra and Ghoul are both still asleep, apparently, because he can hear someone snoring as they pass their room, and Kobra isn’t in his head directing him to do anything.

The blinds are still drawn over the windows, and since it’s still cool Jet figures it’s probably too dark for them to see anything if either of them were to peer through them.

At the door, Jet glances at Party. They’ve got Ghoul’s least favorite hammer hovering near their head, so he figures they’re as ready as they’ll ever be.

He takes a breath, grabs the doorknob, and flings the door open wide.

It’s definitely too dark outside to be awake yet, but in the faint light from the single light in the diner, Jet can just make out a figure in a light-colored jacket, dark hair with a light streak of color at the front. A rebel, more than likely, but after Party’s run-in with Apparition he knows he can’t exactly trust his eyes, and after his own run-in with Mad Rabbit, he knows he can’t exactly trust the motivation of just any random rebel out here.

Party, however, immediately lets their guard down, releasing the hammer from their grip of power and stepping around Jet. “Well if it isn’t Cherri Cola,” they say. “What the hell’re you doin’ here at ass o’clock in the mornin’?”

Jet’s still wary, but he allows himself to relax a bit, keeping an eye on both of them. Party’s mentioned Cherri Cola a few times, and he’s pretty sure they’re friends, so as long as this isn’t one of Apparition’s tricks somehow, it should be fine.

“Poison,” Cherri Cola says. “Is Show Pony here?”

“No, why the hell would they be?” Party says. They reach back and grab his hand, intertwining their fingers and lifting their joined hands to show Cherri Cola. “I’ve got a boyfriend here, and I don’t think Pony’d set  _ foot _ in here just for a  _ friendly  _ visit _ , _ ya get me?”

Cherri Cola shakes his head. “I don’t know, but this was the last place I could think to check. I--have you seen them? Lately?”

Jet can’t see Party’s face, but he can feel them tense up, feel their grip tighten on his hand. “Saw ‘em at the bar--fuck, when was that, Jet? A week ago?”

“Less than that, I think.” He’s getting better at keeping track of the days out here, but it’s still hard when he sleeps twice a day. He thinks maybe it’s been five days since that night at the bar, but he isn’t sure.

Cherri shakes his head. “That won’t help, that was further back than the last time I saw ‘em.” He sucks in a deep breath and then lets it out in a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping. “They went out a couple nights ago--said they were goin’ to Dr. D’s--but they didn’t come back. I thought maybe they’d just spent the rest of the night there, or at another friend’s, but when they weren’t back by the next afternoon I got worried.”

“Fuck,” Party mutters. They squeeze Jet’s hand once more before dropping it and turning to look at him. “Can you get Kobes and Ghoul?” they ask. “We’ve got a big problem.”

 

\----------

 

Once Kobra’s heard all the details (and gleaned a few more from Cherri’s brain during their conversation), he’s got a pretty good idea of where Show Pony is.

He won’t say it out loud, though, not yet, because he knows everyone’s thinking the same thing, and he knows that saying it out loud will make it more real,  _ too _ real, and no one here wants to face that yet.

The thing is, though, that their stronghold isn’t very big, and there aren’t a lot of people here. Word travels fast. If Pony was staying with someone, Cherri would have heard about it by now, because someone would know. 

That leaves only a few options: First, Pony’s dead. Unlikely, because someone probably would have stumbled across their body by now. Second, Pony left the stronghold. Also unlikely, because the only reason Pony’s ever left the stronghold before was to go trade with another stronghold, and they always told someone (usually, anyone who would listen) where they were going and what they were getting, and they always took at least one other rebel with them.

So, that leaves them all faced with the third and most likely option: Show Pony’s been taken by BL/ind.

Jet, who’s now wearing a shirt and a pair of pants that actually fit him, frowns across the table at Cherri, seated across from him. “There must be somewhere else we can look,” he says. “Someone else you haven’t talked to, who might know where they are?”

Cherri shrugs helplessly. “I checked with all the rebels who live near Dr. D’s radio station,” he says for what’s at least the third time. “And I asked around the bar and a few other places. Sure, there’s a few gangs who live farther out I haven’t talked to, but….” He shakes his head.

“We should go talk to them, then,” Jet says with a nod.

Party, sitting beside him, sighs. “It’d take too long to get out to all of ‘em,” they say. “We should go to Tommy Chow Mein’s, ask around. Everyone goes there frequently enough that if someone’s seen ‘em, we’ll hear from ‘em eventually.”

Kobra nods, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch all of them. “That’s the best way to go about it,” he says. He doesn’t say that it’ll be a waste of time, even though he’s sure it will be, because no one wants to hear that right now, no one  _ needs _ to hear that right now.

“It’s still barely three in the goddamn mornin’, though,” Party says, “so I think we all need to get some fuckin’  _ rest _ before we go anywhere.”

“Probably a good idea,” Jet says. He looks across at Cherri again. “You’re welcome to stay,” he tells him. “The booths aren’t that great, but they’re better than the floor and we have plenty of blankets.”

Kobra won’t admit to it, but despite the horror of Pony’s disappearance right now, he feels a little swell of pride that Jet’s actually acting like this is  _ his _ home, and executing his authority to decide whether to take on a guest or not. He’s come a long way from the spooked and secretive ex-BL/ind agent he once was.

“Thanks,” Cherri says, and he does sound grateful. He yawns then, hastily covering it up. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I’ve, um, been up all night. Some rest would be nice.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, man,” Party says, waving one hand dismissively. They nudge Jet, who gets up out of the booth, and they stand too. “I’ll getcha some blankets and shit, and we’ll all wake up in a few hours and go figure out what the hell happened with Pony, yeah?”

“Okay,” says Cherri.

Kobra watches Party and Jet head off down the hall, then turns to Ghoul, who’s laying on his back on another table, head hanging down. He meets his eyes and says, “C’mon, Ghoul. You can sleep in bed. Comfier than the table.”

Ghoul grunts at him, rolling off the table and onto one of the vinyl seats on either side of it. He picks himself up, peering over the back of the seat at Cherri. “We’ll find ‘em,” he says, and Kobra’s almost surprised at how earnest Ghoul sounds. “Get some sleep, don’t worry so much, all that shit.”

“Oh,” Cherri says, and smiles a little. “Right. I will. Thanks, Fun Ghoul.”

Ghoul nods, shrugs, and climbs out of the booth. “C’mon, Kobes,” he says. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”

Kobra follows him.

 

\----------

 

There aren’t many people at Tommy Chow Mein’s at 7 in the morning, but Tommy himself is there and that’s the guy Party wants to talk to right now.

They burst through the front doors, Jet and Kobra on their heels and Ghoul and Cherri close behind. They stride forward, slam their hands down on the counter, and look deeply into Tommy Chow Mein’s eyes.

“Good morning,” Tommy says, unperturbed. “Have something to trade again?”

“We’re lookin’ for Show Pony,” Party says, shoulders tense. Tommy’s got sharp eyes and ears, always watching out for information that could come in handy. Information readily available to those willing to pay for it. Or, in their case, readily available to those with a brother who can literally read his mind.

If Tommy saw somethin’ happen to Pony--or if he  _ knows _ what happened to Pony--and he decided it was too valuable to give away for free, Cherri Cola wouldn’t know. The guy’s too trusting of everyone, honestly.

“I haven’t seen them,” Tommy says with a shrug. “As I told Cherri Cola yesterday.”

Party glares at him, holding eye contact. They don’t look at Kobra--he’ll let them know when he picks up anything useful.  _ If _ he picks up anything useful. “Look,” they say, lowering their voice--though there’s only one other person in the shop, besides their group. “We got stuff--carbons, blasters, bombs, whatever ya want. We’ll trade if ya tell us what ya know.” Of course, they have no intention of  _ actually _ paying up, but  _ he _ doesn’t know that.

Tommy Chow Mein sighs, eyes falling closed in a pained expression. “As much as I would love to take you up on your offer,” he says, “I truly have no information on Show Pony’s whereabouts.” He pauses. “I do, however, have an inflatable raft I’m willing to sell at a discount.”

Party growls at him, slams their hands down on the counter. “What do you  _ want?” _ they ask. “We can getcha whatever ya want, man, just tell us what ya know.”

“Regrettably, I don’t have the information you’re looking for.”

Party’s about to pull a Ghoul and launch themself over the counter at him when a heavy hand falls on their shoulder, steadying them. They twist to look over their shoulder and see Kobra standing there. He gives them a quick shake of his head, and they slump, feeling suddenly empty. Fuck. Tommy really doesn’t know anything.

They sigh, turn back to Tommy. “Sorry ‘bout that, Mr. Chow Mein,” they say, flashing a little, ingenuine smile at him. “Just--if ya hear anythin’ about ‘em, let us know, would ya?”

“Certainly,” Tommy Chow Mein says, smiling politely at them. “Now, do you have any  _ actual _ business, or are you simply taking up space in my shop?”

“Just takin’ up space,” Party says with the biggest grin they can muster up. “Thanks Tommy!” They lurch away from the counter, ignoring his pointed sigh, and lead their entourage right back out the door to talk.

“Well that was a bust,” Ghoul says, cracking his neck and leaning against the building. 

Beside him, Jet nods. “What do we do now?” he asks. “Just...wait for more people to show up? Ask  _ them?” _ He doesn’t look too pleased by the idea, and Party shrugs.

“What else  _ can _ we do? I mean, we seriously can’t drive out and ask all the outskirts gangs. And, like--fuck. Why would one’a  _ them _ do anythin’ to Pony, anyway?” Party brings their hand up to their mouth and nibbles at their nails. Their polish is already worn to hell, it’s not like it’s gonna make ‘em any worse.

“Why would  _ anyone _ do anything to Pony?” Cherri says, worrying at his lower lip. “They don’t exactly have enemies out here.”

And that’s the truth, right there. Show Pony’s well-liked in the stronghold, fun and generous, even when they’re teasing. Party can’t think of a single person who would want to hurt Pony. They can, however, think of a  _ corporation _ that would wish ill upon their friend.

And  _ fuck _ if that isn’t terrifying. What the hell would BL/ind want with  _ Show Pony, _ though? And why would they take them all sneaky-like? That’s not how BL/ind operates. They don’t take people one at a time, in the dead of night. They send out raiding parties of Dracs and exterminators to catch or kill as many rebels as they can. And there haven’t been any BL/ind raiding parties out this way in weeks!

_ ‘They took  _ you  _ all sneaky-like,’ _ Kobra thinks to them. Party looks up, meets his eye.  _ ‘Took you right out in front of the bar, and no one saw a fuckin’ thing.’ _

_ ‘But that’s because some  _ spy  _ of theirs saw me use my telekinesis!’  _ Party sends back, still biting their nails.  _ ‘Pony doesn’t  _ have _ a power--right?’ _

_ ‘No, they don’t. I don’t know why they woulda taken Pony, either, but...Party.’ _

_ ‘Shut up,’ _ they think, biting down harder on their thumb nail.  _ ‘I know! I  _ know _ BL/ind took ‘em, I know--shit, Kobes. They got  _ Show Pony!’ Party rips a strip of their nail off with their teeth, pulling too far down and tearing at the skin. “Ow, mother _ fuck, _ ” they mumble, squeezing a drop of blood from their thumb.

“Are you okay?” Jet asks, leaning closer.

“Yeah,” Party sighs, “Just--tore my skin open, it’s fine.”

Jet frowns, taking Party’s hand in his own. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he says. “You should probably put a bandage on it, though.” He tilts his head down, kisses their cheek. “And try not to bite your nails,” he says quietly, voice warm and just soothing enough that Party can feel their worry shrinking a little. “Fiddle with your shirt. Or squeeze my hand. Whichever’s better for you.”

Party intertwines their fingers with his and squeezes, leans against him a bit. They’re glad Jet’s here. After their own ordeal at the hands of BL/ind, finding out their ex-datemate and one of their close friends has probably been captured by the same bastards isn’t very much fun. It’s nice to have him here to help. 

They hear the sound of twin engines approaching, and a moment later, two motorcycles come to a stop in front of the shop. Party isn’t worried, because they’re not the bright white of BL/ind Draculoids, and are instead splashed with colors: reds, pinks, greens, blues. In fact, they recognize these motorcycles: they belong to Monster Alarm and her gang. 

Each motorcycle hosts two people--three tall figures and a much shorter one, all wearing helmets. There’s a sidecar attached to one of the motorcycles, and it strikes Party as odd that it’s empty, but they can’t quite put their finger on why that is just yet. One of the tall figures climbs off their motorcycle, pulling off their helmet and shouting, “Poison!” 

 They blink. “Hey, Monster.” Actually, Monster’s gang lives on the outskirts of the stronghold. Maybe she can help them. “Ya got a minute?”

Monster Alarm marches up to them, her gang fanning out behind her. Ignoring Party’s question, she instead asks one of her own. “You seen Kiwi around?” Her eyes are wide, her shoulders tense.

Party frowns, not having expected the harsh tone from her. They glance behind her, and only now do they realize that the sidecar is empty because Kiwi Blast isn’t with them. It’s not  _ that _ strange, but then, the two do usually go places together. “No,” they say. “Fuck, how long’s he been gone?”

“Since last night,” she says. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides. “He was goin’ to the bar to snag some’a the new batch’a cordial the barkeep got in, but he didn’t come back.” She sucks in a deep breath, eyes clenched shut, and one of the tall rebels--Coastal Cooler, the chill one--puts a hand on her shoulder. She opens her eyes again. “He didn’t come back last night, or this mornin’, and no one at the bar saw him at all, and--fuck, Poison, you  _ know _ he wouldn’t just skip out on us!”

Party shakes their head. Kiwi’s one of the more courteous desert rebels, and even if he wasn’t, his ties to his gang--and especially to Monster Alarm--are too tight for him to even consider leaving without telling anyone.

Two people missing. Fuck.

“Show Pony’s missing, too,” Jet says. Party realizes that they’re still holding his hand, squeezing it in a death grip. They loosen their hold just a bit as he continues, “They’ve been gone a few days, though, and Cherri Cola’s looked all over for them. Do you think they might have--?”

“Pony’s gone?” Monster shakes her head, mutters something under her breath. “No, I don’t think Kiwi’d go off with ‘em or anythin’. Look, if ya haven’t seen ‘im, we gotta keep lookin’. Shit...c’mon, guys.” She turns to go, the other three moving to follow her, but Kobra steps forward then.

“Wait,” he says sharply. “Who else has gone missing recently?”

They all turn back to him, confusion on their faces--except for the girl with freshly-dyed pink and green hair behind Monster. Fruit Punch. “Hey, how’d you know ‘bout that?” she asks, frowning.

Kobra focuses on her. “Just somethin’ I heard,” he says, and if Party didn’t know him so well they might think he sounds pretty casual, but they can hear the strain in his voice. “What do  _ you  _ know, though?”

“C’mon, Fruitsy, we don’t got  _ time _ for this,” Monster Alarm mutters.

Fruit Punch shakes her head at Kobra. “Nah, like, I just heard some people talkin’ last week, is all.”

“About people goin’ missin’?”

She nods. “Yeah, like…” She pauses a moment, thinking, and Party sees Kobra stiffen. Oh, fuck. This has gotta be somethin’ bad. “The barkeeper’s brother went missin’ a couple weeks ago, Kiwi’s the one who told me ‘bout him. And, uh, no one’s seen Sham Pain in a couple months. Newsie told me she hasn’t seen her friend Cat Scratch in a few weeks….” She trails off, then shrugs. “I dunno, I thought it was kinda weird, but….”

“How…” Cherri shakes his head, sucks in a breath. “How have all these people disappeared, and no one realized it until now?”

“These’ve gotta be connected,” Kobra agrees. “Fuck.” He looks at Ghoul. “This...it’s been goin’ on for  _ months. _ Maybe longer. Fuck. How many of our people do they  _ have?” _

“Who?” Monster Alarm steps forward, right up to Kobra. “Who, Kobra? Who’s got--who’s fuckin’ got Kiwi?!” Her words come out as a hiss, and Jet shifts beside Party, uncomfortable, but Kobra doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t _twitch_ as he looks up at her.

“You  _ know _ who,” he says, voice flat. 

And, evidently, she  _ does _ know who, because Monster takes a step back, shaking her head. “No--you don’t--do you really think--?”

Jet heaves a sigh, looking around at everyone. His hand tightens on Party’s, and they squeeze it in return. “BL/ind,” he says quietly, and everyone turns to look at him. “Who else could it  _ be?” _ He says. “We--” he bites his lip, shakes his head. “We can’t let this go on. We have to stop them, somehow. We have to…” He looks at Party, and his eyes are wide, his eyebrows drawn together. He looks...scared, and Party’s heart clenches, because they know what he’s gonna say, and they  _ don’t want to hear it! _ “We have to go and bring everyone back,” he finishes, quiet enough that only Party can hear.

Party freezes, their muscles tense, their breath catches in the worst possible way. Because he’s right. BL/ind took Pony, they took Kiwi. They took who  _ knows _ how many others--people they’ve worked with, people they’ve helped and been helped by, people Party considers  _ friends. _ BL/ind took them, and Party has firsthand knowledge of what they do to people there. They don’t want anyone else to go through what they went through. Of  _ course _ they have to rescue them!

But.

_ But. _

But they don’t want to go back-- _ can’t _ go back, can’t let their brother and Ghoul go back, can’t let  _ Jet _ go back!

Fuck! Party spent, like, two days strapped to a chair. Jet spent  _ ten goddamn years _ as a goddamn  _ slave _ to that fucking company, being tortured and brainwashed and forced to do all kinds of horrible shit. He can’t go back to  _ that! _

But Pony’s already been gone for a few days. Some of the others have been gone for weeks, for  _ months! _ They’re going through the same shit Party went through--maybe worse-- _ probably _ worse--right now. They can’t leave them there.

“We can’t do that,” Kobra says, breaking Party out of their thoughts. “We won’t be able to get in and out alive.”

“You did it once,” Jet says. He straightens up, holding his head high. His voice is steady now, his shoulders back and his jaw set, but Party can still feel the little tremor in his hand. “You did it once, you can do it again.  _ We _ can do it again.”

“Me ‘n’ Ghoul thought we were goin’ on a  _ suicide mission, _ Jet,” Kobra snaps. “We only made it out alive ‘cause you’d escaped and met us at the gate! We try to blast our way into the city, into fuckin’  _ HQ, _ you think we’re gonna make it more’n two steps? We go back, Jet, we’re  _ dead.” _

Jet looks stricken. His hold on Party’s hand is like a vice now, the shakes visible further up his arm. “I--” he cuts himself off, shakes his head. “You can’t blast your way in,” he agrees. “We have to sneak in.”

“And how the hell d’you think we’re gonna do that?” Kobra asks. He looks more intense than Party’s seen him in a long time, his chin jutting forward, his eyes hard. “You know better’n anyone what kinda security they got there!”

That’s true. Jet  _ does _ know better than any of them what the security in Battery City is like. He knows how they move, which areas are safest when. Combine his knowledge of the city with Party’s astral projection and Kobra’s telepathy--hell, maybe even Ghoul’s voice mimicry--and there might actually be a way for them to pull this off. Thinking about it...they could make an excellent spy team.

They see Kobra shoot a look at them, eyes narrowed, and they know he’s picked up on their thoughts, is probably considering the possibilities right now.

They can do this.

They might be the only people who  _ can. _

Party takes a breath, lifts their chin, and opens their mouth--

“I’ll go,” Monster Alarm says suddenly. Party shuts their mouth and looks at her, startled. She’s looking between Jet and Kobra, her expression determined. “I don’t care if it’s a suicide mission, I ain’t lettin’ Kiwi and the others get their brains all scrambled by those assholes.” She turns to the three behind her. “Look, I don’t expect ya to go with me,” she says. “It’s dangerous. Even the Kobra Kid says so! I’ll go alone, okay? I’ll get Kiwi, and--”

“I knew you were an idiot,” the shortest of the bunch, a kid with a ratty strawberry hat, scoffs, “but I didn’t think you were  _ this _ stupid.”

“Yeah,” Fruit Punch says. “Like,  _ obviously _ we’re gonna go with ya!”

“We’re not gonna leave Kiwi behind,” Coastal Cooler agrees, “and we’re not lettin’ you go alone. We’d be a real shit gang if we did that.”

Monster Alarm barks out a laugh, folding them all into her arms, and Party turns away, looks at Jet. Looks at Kobra. They feel...numb? No, not numb. They feel so  _ many _ things, too many things at once to differentiate between them. Pulled in too many directions all at once.

They don’t want to go back.

They can’t  _ not _ go back.

“Jet’s right,” they say. “We can’t leave ‘em there. I--Kobes. You weren’t there, you don’t know what it’s like--”

“I know what you went through,” Kobra says, voice far too steady. “I saw it in your mind, Party, I know what it’s like there. You can’t go back.”

“That’s why I  _ have _ to go back!” they bite out. “BL/ind’s puttin’  _ Pony _ through that right now, and Kiwi, and whoever else they got!” They take a deep breath to steady themself, squeeze Jet’s hand, and look Kobra in the eye. “You and Ghoul don’t have to go. But I’m goin’.”

“Me too.” Party looks up at Jet, notes the determined expression on his face. They smile tightly at him; they can do this.

“Count me in,” Ghoul says, and Party’s eyes flick over to meet his. “You don’t seriously think you can leave me  _ behind, _ do ya?” He looks at Kobra. “Look, last time we went, it was just the two of us. This time, it’s us, Party, Jet,  _ and _ everyone’s favorite dumbass brigade--” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder at Monster and her gang, but if the nickname bothers them at all, they don’t show it, “--and I bet if we can get in touch with some’a the city rebels, we can get in and out, no problem.”

Party blinks. Ghoul may be a bastard and an idiot, but sometimes he’s got some good ideas.

Kobra stares at him for a long moment, and Party sees the moment he makes up his mind, because his shoulders slump, and he leans closer to Ghoul. “Fine,” he says, quiet and uncertain. “We--fine. We’ll go. We’ll fuckin’ make a plan, we’ll figure this out, we’ll go to the city and get ‘em out.” He pauses, looks around at all of them--at Party, at Jet, at Monster and her gang, at Cherri Cola--and then back at Ghoul. He nods once, throws his shoulders back, and stands tall. “We’ll go and get ‘em out,” he says again, voice stronger. “Together.”

Together.

Party’s terrified out of their mind, they don’t want to risk  _ any _ of their friends, any of their family, but this is what they have to do.

They won’t let BL/ind hurt them any more than they already have.

 

\----------

 

Everyone agrees to go their separate ways for now and meet up again soon to discuss their strategy for infiltrating Battery City. Cherri Cola goes off to make some arrangements with Doctor Death-Defying, the apparent owner of this stronghold’s only radio station, and Monster Alarm takes the remaining members of her gang back to their home, climbing onto the twin motorcycles and disappearing quickly in a cloud of dust.

Maybe Jet should try and get another rain storm started before they all leave, just in case they don’t make it back.

Party hasn’t let go of his hand since this all started, and their grip is so tight that they might honestly be cutting off his circulation, but he refuses to let go until they do. He thinks maybe Party just needs something to help ground them, to remind them that they aren’t alone in their decision.

Anyway, that’s how Jet feels. It would be all too easy to sink into his “perfect soldier” persona and act on autopilot, let the fear consume him, but he fights against it. He may be going back to Battery City, but he isn’t going to work for BL/ind, and he isn’t going in alone. Party’s hand in his is proof of that.

“Come on,” Kobra says, bumping Jet’s shoulder with his own. “We got work to do. Plans to make.”

Jet nods, tugs on Party’s hand, and the four of them pile back into the car. Kobra claims the driver’s seat before Party can, so the two of them climb into the backseat.

Party’s grip on Jet’s hand loosens only when they’re about halfway home, and they lean forward, propping their chin on the back of the driver’s seat. “So I know I’ve been sayin’ for a few years now that we should just fuckin’ take down BL/ind,” they say casually, as if they weren’t just clinging to Jet for dear life, “but I take it back now. I have no idea how we’d pull that shit off.”

Kobra snorts, not looking back at them. “Yeah, no way are we goin’ that far. We’ll figure out how to get everyone back.”

Ghoul reaches over and punches Kobra in the shoulder--not hard, but apparently unexpected, as it forces Kobra to jerk the wheel to the side for a moment before straightening the car back out. “Stop worryin’ so much,” Ghoul says. “And don’t tell me you’re not worried, I don’t need to peek at your brain to read your moods.” He looks over at Party. “It’s just a sneak mission, anyway,” he says. “We can handle a sneak mission.”

“Pretty sure you’ve never done a ‘sneak’ mission in your entire goddamn life,” Party tells him. “And there’s nothin’ ‘just’ about it! This...it’s not gonna be just gettin’ in we gotta figure out. I know Batt City and I know the maintenance tunnels, but I don’t know shit about BL/ind’s HQ or even if that’s where they’re bein’ held!”

“That’s what Jet’s for,” Ghoul says with a shrug. “Plus your ghost-thing. It’s not a big deal.”

Party sighs, “I mean, yeah. Our powers and Jet’s knowledge’ll make us, like, the best spy team ever. But I’m still worried, y’know?”

“I mean, no one can blame you for being worried,” Jet says. He leans forward as well, leaning against Ghoul’s seat and craning his neck to look over at him. “Ghoul, you mentioned city rebels, right? Those are the people who smuggle food out and that sort of thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul says. “They gotta know the best way into the city, since they move stuff in and out all the time.”

“And they must have places to hide, too. If they’re good at what they do. If we can get in contact with them and they agree, they can hide us in the city. Right?”

“That...yeah, that sounds about right,” Party says. They sit back against the seat, look at him. “But what then? How do we find Pony and the others? Just...take a guess? Look around? Hope we can stealthily break into wherever they’re holdin’ ‘em?”

He bites his lip. “I...don’t know,” he says. Well...that’s only partially true. He has an idea. The others probably won’t like it, though.

Kobra sighs loudly. “We’ll talk about it at home,” he says. “And for the record, I don’t like any of the ideas I’m hearin’ right now.”

Well. That’s not a good sign.

 

\----------

 

Kobra makes everyone sit in one of the diner booths as soon as they get home, immediately squeezing in against the wall so he has something solid to lean against.

Ghoul’s right, of course: Kobra’s worried. He’s more or less got his emotions locked down, his face schooled into something cool and blank, but he honestly doesn’t know why he bothers. Party and Ghoul can easily and accurately read his moods, and he thinks Jet’s getting pretty good at it, too.

He doesn’t like being unable to hide his fear. It’s probably how they all feel, all the time, just being around him, and it’s probably not really fair for him to get upset about it, but he can’t help it.

He doesn’t want to make them worry any more than they already are by showing his own fear.

And fuck if he isn’t terrified of the idea of going back there, and under circumstances like this. He hasn’t set foot in Battery City in six years, had foolishly thought he’d never have to do so again--even when he and Ghoul went to get Party, they’d both stayed outside the walls.

He doesn’t exactly have many good memories of Battery City. Even before he and Party developed their powers, they were too non-conformist. Not enough to land them in re-education, thankfully, but enough that they were put on a watchlist.

Kobra knows they were lucky to get out when they did. Living in the desert for the first time...the freedom, no longer having to worry about being watched or harassed, no longer having to worry about  _ not being himself, _ it was...euphoric.

And the fact that BL/ind’s been out here so many times, taken so many people away from this life--people who fought to live here, fought to  _ stay _ here--right out from under his nose? He feels like he’s failed them. 

He and Ghoul do their best to protect this stronghold, but he’s  _ failed _ .

So, no matter how scared he is--scared of the city, of BL/ind, of being brainwashed, of  _ dying- _ -they can’t leave them there. 

_ He _ can’t leave them there.

“Okay,” says Jet, and Kobra blinks. He has no idea how long he’s been spacing out, thinking about this, but everyone’s seated around him now, Ghoul sitting just a few inches away from him on the bench. When he meets his eye, Ghoul presses his leg against Kobra’s, a reminder that he doesn’t have to focus on this alone. “Okay,” Jet says again. “So. Plans.”

“Plans,” Kobra repeats. He lays his head back against the vinyl seat, looks up at the ceiling. He’s not going to look at anyone while they discuss this. None of the plans he can hear rattling around in their skulls will work--frankly, they’re all stupid and mildly terrifying--but if he doesn’t let them say them out loud and see how stupid they are, they’ll never get anywhere.

He presses his leg closer against Ghoul’s.

“Well,” says Party. “Obviously we need some kinda distraction to get in, right? Somethin’ to keep BL/ind occupied while we sneak in.”

“What if,” Jet says slowly, “I go to the city gates and turn myself in?” There’s a pause, and Party takes a breath to argue, but Jet quickly continues, “That way, I’m back in the building and you guys can sneak in while they’re dealing with me. That would work, right?”

Kobra can feel his anxiety, knows that turning himself in is the last thing Jet wants to do. Feeling his emotions is stressing Kobra out even more; he blocks Jet’s mind from his own, followed quickly by Party’s. 

“Absolutely  _ not, _ holy  _ shit!” _ Party exclaims. “No way are we lettin’ you  _ turn yourself in, _ oh my  _ god, _ they’d just brainwash you again and make you fight for them!”

“I can probably talk my way out of re-education,” Jet says uncertainly. “Tell them I was, uh, getting info on the rebels?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’ve talked yourself outta  _ so _ much with them before,” Party says, worry making them even snarkier than usual. 

“It’s a stupid idea,” Kobra says, cutting off whatever Jet had been about to say. The work Ghoul’s done on the roof is really nice. Kobra has excellent taste in men. “Party’s right, you’d just get brainwashed and prob’ly forced to fight us or somethin’. Who wants to suggest somethin’ next?”

Party jumps at the opening. “I think  _ I _ should turn myself in,” they say. “‘Cause as long as I’m doin’ my astral projection thing, I can’t be brainwashed, and I can get information from inside for you guys, too!”

“No,” Jet says urgently. “Party, if I can’t do that then you  _ definitely _ can’t.”

“But I’m basically  _ immune _ to that shit! They don’t even know I can do that thing, they think my only power is telekinesis!”

“For now,” Jet says. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t find out. If they’ve had spies out here kidnapping people, what makes you think they haven’t had spies out here gathering information on  _ you? _ Even if they don’t know  _ now, _ if they find out before we get you out--and I don’t know if we  _ could _ get you out--they’d just have to recalibrate the power suppressors to block both your telekinesis  _ and  _ your astral projection. Then you’d be just as vulnerable as the rest of us.”

“Jet’s got a good point,” Kobra says. “Your idea’s even more stupid than Jet’s, because it’s the same exact plan with the same exact outcome and you suggested it after we both said what was shit about  _ his _ plan.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Party snaps. “My plan was way better and would  _ totally _ work.”

Kobra sighs, letting his eyes fall closed. His mind is still open to Ghoul’s, and he can hear the stupid plan Ghoul’s about to propose. “Ghoul,” he says. “That’s just as bad--no,  _ worse _ actually. But, go ahead. Say it.”

Ghoul elbows him in the side, and normally Kobra would do the same back to him, but right now he just wants to sit here and stew in his own anxiety.

“My plan is  _ not _ stupid,” he says. “Anyway. So Jet, you gotta go to BL/ind and tell ‘em you never really left ‘em.”

“Uh,” says Jet. “That sounds exactly like my plan. I’m pretty sure we’re not doing that?”

“Shut up, I’m not done. Anyway. So you go to BL/ind, tell ‘em you were workin’ for ‘em undercover, and you bring Party with you and you turn  _ them _ in. That way they have proof that you’re on their side, and they’ll let you in and then you’re both in.”

Jet and Party speak simultaneously. “No,” they both say. Kobra snorts.

“Aw, c’mon,” Ghoul says. “What’s wrong with that plan?”

“Everything,” Kobra says. “With that plan we risk both of ‘em. Plus, there’s always the chance BL/ind decides they’re not worth it and just kills ‘em.”

Everyone falls silent then. Yeah, he figured they wouldn’t consider that.

After a moment, Kobra lets out a sigh and shifts forward, opening his eyes to look around the table. “Luckily,” he says, “I don’t think we need to worry about BL/ind yet. Just the city itself. And I think we’ve already got a good way into the city.”

“Well, fuck, bro,” Party says, leaning back and rubbing the heels of their palms into their eyes, “enlighten us, why don’tcha?”

Kobra’s still keeping his mental shields up, because just looking at Party and Jet is making him nervous. But, if they’ve absolutely gotta go through with this--and they  _ do- _ -then he’s gonna at least give them some reassurance. “Jet and Ghoul already brought it up,” he says. “The city-based rebels. Dr. D can get us in touch with ‘em, and we’ll work together to get into the city.”

“Okay,” Jet says. “I’m with you so far.”

“Right. We’ll have the rebels hide us for a while--probably just a day or two--while Party and I use our powers to scope out the area and get what information we can on the whereabouts of Pony and the others.”

“Sounds good to me,” Party says, dropping their hands from their face and looking at him. “What do we do when we find out where they are?”

He shrugs. “We’ll form a plan once we have all the info,” he says. “It’s risky, but we can’t know what to do ‘til we have more information.”

Across the table, Jet sighs. “It’s the most logical idea,” he says. “So. How exactly do we get in contact with the city-based rebels?”

Kobra looks at Ghoul. “You up for a visit to Dr. D’s, Ghoul?”

“Hell yeah!” Ghoul grins at him. “You know I love fuckin’ his shit up.”

“It’s a miracle you haven’t been banned from the radio station,” Kobra says. He’s feeling a little better now, but he doesn’t drop his shields. He looks at Jet again. “Dr. D is the only one who can actually contact ‘em,” he explains. “Tommy Chow Mein and the other traders arrange stuff through him.” 

He looks at Party next. “We’ll figure out when to go after we’ve talked with Dr. D.” Kobra takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Get ready. We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

Everyone exchanges looks of grim determination. 

Kobra’s hoping for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some of the stuff i've been foreshadowing/hinting at since almost the beginning comes into play lmao!!
> 
> i'm sure you can see where the story's going from here. i've been working hard to give this story the thrilling conclusion it deserves, so i hope you'll stick with me and enjoy the ride!!
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter and/or have questions, i'd love if you left a comment! :D you can also send me an ask on tumblr if you'd rather: http://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com/ask/
> 
> see you next week!! <3


	20. And We're Leaving Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A team of supervillains make their way across the desert.  
> Kobra Kid can't handle the pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 27!! 
> 
> HUGE thank you as always to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading and providing me with excellent ideas and inspiration!!
> 
> please enjoy this chapter! :)

Doctor Death-Defying puts them in contact with a small group of city-based smugglers, who agree to help them sneak into the city.

They leave tomorrow.

The atmosphere in the diner is tense. It’s strange, because as long as Jet’s been here, everyone’s been...maybe not  _ joyful _ (although they usually are anyway), but at least  _ lively. _ Still, he understands why everyone’s like this. Better Living Industries has who knows how many of their friends and fellow rebels. Some of them have been held long enough that they’ve probably already undergone re-education. 

Not to mention the possibility that their plan fails and they all get captured, too. 

At any rate, things are weird in the diner, and Jet’s ready for a change. Something to lighten the mood a bit, get everyone to relax a little before they all go, enjoy what might end up being their last day out in the desert. For a while, at least.

The problem is that he’s not sure how to do that. No one seems to want to go anywhere, and there’s not much to do here that wouldn’t bother someone or other.

So, he’s more or less resigned himself to laying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling. The other three are in various other locations throughout the building: Kobra’s sitting in one of the booths with a magazine open on the table in front of him, though Jet doesn’t think he’s turned a page in at least an hour, so he doubts he’s actually reading it. Ghoul’s in the kitchen, doing...something involving a lot of clanging followed by long periods of silence. Party went into their bedroom a while ago and didn’t offer any explanation or make any attempt to tempt Jet into mid-morning sex or even a makeout session, so who knows what they’re doing?

It’s quiet (aside from Ghoul’s occasional banging), so when Kobra suddenly announces that he and Ghoul are going to the workshop, it startles Jet out of his lethargy. He sits up, looking over at Kobra, but Kobra doesn’t look back at him.

“We need to see if there’s anythin’ that’ll help us in the city,” he says.

Ghoul emerges from the kitchen then, holding three spoons and a ladle. He’s also holding an empty Power-Pup can in one hand, smashed flat. “Sure,” he says. “I got a couple bombs, but I don’t think we’ll need those. Got some half-finished stuff, too. Dunno if we can finish anythin’ before we go, though.”

Kobra shrugs, standing from the booth and guiding Ghoul out the door. “Guess we’ll find out,” he says, and then it’s just Jet, and probably Party somewhere, assuming they didn’t duck out one of the windows and escape out into the desert.

Jet’s about to lay back down when he hears one of the bedroom doors open, and he cranes his neck to see Party come out, a bottle of something in one hand and a red-stained towel slung over their shoulder. “Hey,” they say, more subdued than usual.

“Hey,” Jet replies. He tilts his head, focusing on the bottle in their hand. He still can’t tell what it is, but it’s an actual plastic bottle, not glass, which is something he realizes he hasn’t seen much of outside of the city. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Hair dye,” Party says. They come to a stop in front of him. “I wanna make sure my hair’s as bright and colorful as possible before we go. Won’t be able to fake bein’ a citizen, anyway, so may as well stick it to ‘em and their sterile white viewpoint as much as possible, right?”

Jet nods, flashes a smile at them. “Makes sense,” he says. “Do you want help?”

“Please.” Party holds the bottle out to him, and he takes it as he stands.

“Poison Red,” he reads. “Your namesake, huh?”

They nod. “Best fuckin’ color there is,” they say. “C’mon, kitchen sink.”

Party leads him into the kitchen and drops their towel on the counter. “Gonna get your hands all red,” they say. Jet watches as they pull their shirt off and drop it next to the towel. “Like, real fuckin’ red. Red as my hair. Don’t got any gloves or anythin’, so.”

“I figured,” Jet says. He sets the bottle down, moves closer and tousles Party’s hair, studying it. The red’s faded down to what looks like almost--but not quite--a natural red, with a few brighter spots here and there. Their roots are showing, too: a light brown, even lighter than Kobra’s roots, actually. He tries to imagine Party with brown hair, but can’t. Poison Red is the only thing that he can picture them with. It suits them.

“I haven’t dyed hair before,” he tells them, dropping his hand from their hair and reaching for the bottle again. “So tell me if I’m wrong, but I basically just coat your hair with the dye, right?”

“That’s the gist of it,” they say. “Just really work it in there. Use as much as you gotta, better to be  _ too _ red than not red enough, y’know?”

“Okay.” He uncaps the bottle, reaches up, and squirts some of the contents onto the top of Party’s head. They don’t protest, so he figures that was the proper thing to do. He squirts some more dye in another spot, sets the bottle inside, then reaches up and starts working the dye through their hair with his fingers.

Party’s eyes fall closed and they lean forward, bending just enough to give him easier access to their hair. 

“Do you want it on your scalp,” he asks, “or just the hair?”

“Whatever,” Party says. “Want the roots red, so ya can’t keep it off the scalp, really. Just get me as red as ya can.”

“Okay.” 

It’s mostly silent as Jet works the dye through their hair. He has to add more dye several times, and it takes a while to make sure he’s got every hair coated as well as he can, and by the time he thinks he’s done there’s only a little bit of dye left in the bottle, so he just goes ahead and adds that in too. Just to be sure.

He washes his hands afterward, but his palms are still red. He studies them as Party wipes excess dye from their neck and shoulders, thinks about how much the dye looks like fresh blood. He thinks it should bother him, send him reeling the way the fight at the bar had, but it doesn’t. He kind of likes it, actually. Red hands, to match Party’s red hair.

“And now we wait,” Party says, hopping up to sit on the counter. They’ve draped the towel over their shoulders, but their shirt still sits discarded beside them. 

Jet nods, sits on the counter next to them. “Why are we sitting here?” he asks. “There’s several perfectly good booths behind us.”

“Not as much fun,” they say. “Sittin’ where you’re not supposed to is so fuckin’  _ devious, _ y’know?”

He snorts out a little laugh, shrugs. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

They fall into silence again, but it isn’t as tense as it’s felt most of the day. It’s more comfortable. They’re existing alongside each other, and though there’s still that undercurrent of worry, it’s not strong enough to detract from the pleasant feeling.

Maybe it’s because the tension has dissipated that Party feels the need to state, “You know we could die tomorrow, right?”

And Jet thinks that this should bring the tension back, or make him feel panicky or something, but it doesn’t. He shrugs. “Of course,” he says.

Party shifts, turning their body so their knee is on the counter, pressed up against his thigh as they face him. “And you’re okay with that?”

He shrugs again. “I spent ten years  _ having _ to be okay with that.” Well, almost. He hadn’t been terribly worried about dying when he was a teenager, just worried about accidentally killing other people. But still, he’s had to face the possibility of death--his or others’--for nearly a decade.

Party lets out a huff, kicking their heel against the counter. “But you shouldn’t  _ have _ to be okay with it,” they tell him. “You shouldn’t have to be okay with it anymore.” 

He sighs. “It’s not like I’m not  _ scared, _ ” he says. “Because I am. I don’t want to go back there, Party. I’ve been trying to escape for years, and I never thought I’d have to go back once I got out. And certainly not so soon, either.”

“Then don’t!” Party leans in, grabbing onto his leg with both hands. “You stay here where you’re  _ safe, _ and the rest of us will go and you won’t have to go back!” They’re peering earnestly into his face, mouth set into a frown.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes locked with theirs. “I have to go, Party.”

“You don’t!”

“Party.” He shifts, placing his hands over theirs. “I’m not letting all of you risk your lives while I sit back and worry.”

He sees their shoulders slump. “But--” They cut themself off, biting their lower lip. 

Jet lifts one hand and cups their cheek. “I’m going, Party,” he says lightly, as though it doesn’t make his chest tighten uncomfortably. “It’s just a stealth mission. Get in, get the others, get out. Right? I know my way around the city. You know your way  _ under _ the city. We won’t get caught, we won’t die, we’ll all get back to the desert, safe and sound.”

They sigh, leaning into his touch and closing their eyes again. “How do you know?” they ask.

“I don’t,” he says truthfully. “A lot could go wrong. But what’s the point of dwelling on it? Besides, I think we’re a lot more likely to succeed than fail.” He runs his thumb across their cheekbone, and a lock of their hair falls across his knuckles. Their hair is rough, now, crunchy with drying dye. He doesn’t mind it. “With you, your brother, and Ghoul--the team who’s stopped every single BL/ind raid in the past few years--I think we stand a pretty good chance, even if we do run into trouble.”

Party hums in response, kicking their foot out to wrap their leg around his. “And you,” they say. “Don’t forget about yourself. Even without usin’ your power, you’re pretty badass, Jet.”

He chuckles, leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of their nose. Party scrunches up their face and opens their eyes, giving him an obviously fake glare. He laughs again, kisses their forehead, and says, “You’re not wrong. I can be pretty scary when I try.”

“The scariest.” Party grins at him, leans in and kisses him on the lips. Then they say, “Oh, hey. You wanna dye your hair, too? Think I still got some peroxide somewhere.”

Jet snorts, straightening up. “No thanks,” he says, amused. “For one thing, I used the whole bottle on you. For another, I like how I look now. If I’m going back to Battery CIty, I wanna go in as myself. And ‘myself’ has dark, curly hair longer than BL/ind regulation allows.”

Party studies him for a moment, then nods. “Okay. I can get behind that. You never picked a new name, though!”

He pauses, eyes losing their focus as he thinks. He’d almost forgotten about their first conversation out here, when Party had mentioned him choosing a new name. He hadn’t even really  _ thought _ about it since then. “I...don’t think I will,” he says, blinking to refocus his gaze on them. “I mean, I know BL/ind gave me the name Jet Star as a way to... _ other _ me from the rest of the population. But I...kind of like it.” He shrugs. “I can’t imagine being called anything else.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Party doesn’t seem convinced, though.

“And,” he adds, as the thought occurs to him, “and, well, when we get everyone out of there…if we can’t just sneak out, I mean--I kind of want BL/ind to know that it was me. I want it to be undeniable that one of their ‘elite soldiers’ outsmarted them.” 

_ “Hell  _ yeah!” Party exclaims. “Now  _ that’s _ what I’m talkin’ about.” They pause, eyes still locked with his, and something in their expression softens. “You know, Jet?” they say, voice quiet. 

“What?” he asks.

“I kinda fuckin’ love you.”

Jet blinks. This is the first time Party’s actually said that, and--well, okay, he really wasn’t expecting it. Not here, not during  _ this _ conversation, but...he can’t deny that it sends a thrill through him, a warm feeling spreading out from his chest. 

He smiles at them, at their hopeful expression, and he states the truth: “I love you, too.” He leans in, kisses them. It’s chaste, sweet,  _ different _ from previous kisses, but...every kiss so far has felt different. He loves them all.

Jet pulls back after a few moments, still smiling, and says, “Now, let’s get this dye washed out of your hair, yeah?”

“Good idea,” Party says. They kiss the corner of his mouth one more time before hopping off the counter and heading for the sink. 

No matter what happens tomorrow and the days following, Jet will treasure these moments with Party.

 

\----------

 

They decide to leave before the sun can make its daily appearance. Monster Alarm and her gang show up on their motorcycles, helmets securely in place. With them come DJ Hot Chimp and NewsAGoGo in Doctor Death-Defying’s van. They’ll be travelling to the city with them, but staying outside the city walls rather than following them inside, to more easily avoid detection while they keep them in contact with Dr. D (thanks to the mobile radio station he’s got packed into his van) and Cherri Cola (who had decided to remain behind).

Once everyone’s gathered outside the diner, they all toss their gear into the trunk of the Trans Am and start the journey to Battery City.

Party’s driving, of course, because it’s their fucking car and they love it to pieces, even if it’s basically fallen into literal pieces thanks to all the shit they’ve been putting it through lately. The busted windows on the driver’s side have been replaced with cloudy sheets of clear plastic to keep the wind and sand out, and they hadn’t quite been able to get the dents out of the door. Still, it runs well (thanks, Ghoul), and they’ve splashed some more paint on it so it looks like a more deliberate sort of mess.

Kobra’s in the seat next to them, with Jet and Ghoul in the backseat. The atmosphere in the car is still kind of tense, because uh,  _ yeah. _ Sure, they’ve got their plan for entry, thanks to Dr. D and one of the city rebels--Sideshow, Party’s pretty sure his name was--and they’re all set to get themselves smuggled in, but there’s still the possibility--the likelihood--that they’ll get caught before they even get to the city, or before they get to the safehouse inside.

This is the scariest thing they’ve done. Heading straight into BL/ind’s clutches.

And, though they don’t know about Kobra or Ghoul, Party and Jet certainly didn’t get much sleep last night. Not for any sexy reasons, unfortunately--though Party  _ did _ lay with their head pillowed on Jet’s chest while he held them securely in his arms, which was kind of fucking heavenly. They aren’t sure if the lack of sleep is making their anxiety better or worse, but it’s certainly a factor in their own lack of conversation.

They don’t know how the others are holding up, in the van or on their motorcycles--they figure the motorcycle/helmet combination doesn’t allow for much in the way of conversation anyway, but Hot Chimp and Newsie in the van might at least be having an interesting conversation about, like, call signs or ray gun accuracy or whatever. You know, girly stuff.

The car remains quiet as they make their way across the dark, early-morning desert.

 

\----------

 

They take a break when they make it to the halfway stone.

Party climbs out of the car and leans against the cool blue- and green-painted boulder, folding their arms over their chest and watching everyone else stretch and meander around.

The sun still has yet to rise, but the horizon is stained a faint pink and blue, so it won’t be dark much longer.

“Okay,” says Kobra, who’s leaning against the car next to Jet, “Everyone knows the plan for gettin’ to the city, right?” 

Various nods and noises of agreement.

There’s a pause--probably Kobra checking through their minds to make sure they really  _ do _ know--and then he nods.

“Good,” he says. “So stick close, stay outta the blast zone, and we’ll see ya when we get to the wall.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it, Kobra,” says Hot Chimp, fiddling with a little handheld radio. “Since we’ll be so close together, we should be able to stay in touch, but--” she shrugs, “--we’ll just have to use our own discretion if somethin’ comes up.”

“Just don’t let the car get outta sight,” Kobra says. “And if it does, stay in the bubble’a silence and ya should be good.”

Party’s not too worried about the possible radio silence--if something happens and they’ve gotta pass a message on to one of the others, Kobra can handle it. It’s not like his telepathy’s gonna be a secret much longer, anyway--at least, not from Monster’s gang. May as well just tell everyone now, anyway, but--well.

Party’s gonna be revealing both their own powers pretty soon, and they’re not in any mood to show them right now, either.

“Okay, if we’re all set, can we get movin’?” Monster says, clutching her helmet tightly in both hands. “Kiwi’s already been gone a couple days, we gotta--”

“Yeah,” Kobra interrupts. He straightens up, puts his hand on the door handle behind him. “Let’s get as far as we can before the sun’s up.”

Everyone piles back into their vehicles, Ghoul clambering onto Party’s shoulders--they hadn’t even realized he’d climbed onto the rock behind them, what the  _ fuck _ \--for a ride and then crawling into the backseat when Party opens the driver’s side door.

Kobra and Jet have switched places now, with Kobra in the seat behind them, and he’s ripped the plastic sheet off the window. He’s all set, then.

Jet sends them what they’re sure is meant to be a reassuring smile, but looks a little--okay, a  _ lot- _ -strained. They smile back, reach over and squeeze his knee.

“Ready?” they ask, and Jet nods.

“Now or never,” he says, a little shakily.

Party starts the engine, and they take off once more.

 

\----------

 

They’re in the middle of a sandstorm.

It isn’t the first time Kobra and Ghoul have combined their powers to create a sandstorm, of course, but it’s certainly the largest and most prolonged. 

Party can’t see where they’re driving, can only trust that they’re going in the right direction based on the directions Hot Chimp and Newsie are sending from the equipment in their van--the sandstorm’s interfering with the equipment, but only a little, thankfully--and it’s so dark inside the storm. They can’t even turn the headlights on in case they’re seen from the outside.

The storm had been Jet’s idea, because they all knew there was no way they’d be able to get close to the city with a car, a van, and two motorcycles, all clearly non-BL/ind regulation, without being spotted. Sandstorms, however, aren’t exactly uncommon around here, and no one’s gonna pay them any mind like this.

Initially, they’d planned on Jet starting the sandstorm, but there was way too big a chance that he’d cause some other kind of disaster he couldn’t shut off--like frying the batteries in all the vehicles or something--and he wouldn’t be able to move or otherwise control the storm once it was started, anyway.

Then Jet had reminded them all of the sandstorm Kobra and Ghoul had started, a couple years ago while fighting BL/ind, and everyone had agreed that it was their best option.

Unfortunately, this means that Kobra’s gonna be pretty much exhausted by the time they get to the city, because he’s gotta be  _ constantly _ redirecting the sounds. He’s mainly using the engine noises around them to feed the storm, which gives the added advantage of hiding the sound of their approach from any BL/ind patrols that might be nearby, as well as adding the occasional concussive screams from Ghoul whenever the storm starts to die down too much.

It’s fine, though. Once they get to the city, they shouldn’t need to rely on his powers for anything until after he’s rested.

Jet’s sitting stiffly beside Party, picking absently at the skin of his thumb while he stares directly out in front of the car.

And, like, the barely-visible swirls of sand can’t possibly be  _ that _ interesting, so clearly the guy’s spaced out and thinking something he probably shouldn’t be.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Party reaches over and places their other hand on his arm, brushes their thumb over the fabric of his jacket. “Hey.”

Jet startles, looking over at them. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, um, sorry, were you talking to me?”

“Nope,” they say. “Just wanna make sure you’re all good. You’re, uh, lookin’ a little...yuck.”

Jet snorts, lips twitching into something amused. “Yuck,” he repeats. “Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you know what I mean!”

“Yeah, okay.” He sighs. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you  _ why _ I’m nervous.”

“Yeah,” Party says. They pause. Then, “You know, it’s not too late to just turn around and go home.” They say it lightly, joking, but...if Jet wanted to, Party would absolutely take him home. Come back alone to get the others out.

Of course, they don’t actually need to hear him say it to know he’d never go for that.

He shakes his head. “Pony and the others have already been there...too long. I want to help them escape.”

“Yeah.” Party wonders how Pony’s feeling right now. Are they fighting the process? Sleeping through it? Forced to take the pills, forced to watch the videos? They’ve already been gone longer than Party had been. They don’t know how long it takes people to get...re-educated. Don’t know what  _ else _ they do to people, how they make the brainwashing really stick.

Is Show Pony already brainwashed?

Are they even  _ alive? _

__ The radio on the seat between Party and Jet crackles to life. “City’s comin’ up in about five miles,” Newsie’s voice comes across, broken and sizzling. “Rendezvous point open.”

Jet picks it up, presses the button. “Straight ahead?” he asks. “Any patrols?”

“Straight ahead,” she confirms. “Pickin’ up signs of three patrols outside city limits, none on this side. Think they’re stayin’ away from the storm.”

“Got it. Thanks.” He sets the radio down, takes a deep breath. He looks into the backseat, glancing between Kobra and Ghoul. Nods. He turns back to Party. “Way too late to turn around and go back home,” he says.

“Way too late,” Party agrees.

They urge the car forward. Five more miles.

 

\----------

 

They hide the vehicles between several piles of junk.

There are only two roads in or out of Battery City, and piled for a mile or two all around the city, and especially beside the roads, are decades’ worth of garbage and scrap metal, chunks of thick plastic and shards of glass. Things Better Living Industries has deemed useless, worthless, and simply tossed into the desert to rot--or, more often than not, to rust or crack or crumble in the elements, left to sit and take up space forever.

Well, regardless of the shape this junk is in, it serves Party and the others well. It’s easy to hide several vehicles past their prime in a veritable car graveyard.

Kobra’s keeping the sandstorm going, thinning out the sand as he spreads it farther out, casting the sounds farther and farther away; it would be suspicious if they kept it centered on them. He’s looking pretty tired, but thankfully he won’t have to keep it going much longer.

Once they’ve parked the car, Party reaches into the backseat to grab two helmets: their own Mousekat helmet, which they situate on their head, and a second helmet, which they hold out to Jet.

“It’s not as cool as mine,” Party tells him, half-apologetic, “but it’ll keep the sand outta your eyes and your face off BL/ind’s radar.”

Jet blinks at the helmet as he takes it, like he’s surprised by it or something. What, like Party’d let their boyfriend march into this hellhole without  _ some _ kind of protection?

It really  _ isn’t _ much to look at. An old silver motorcycle helmet someone--probably Ghoul--had scrounged up at some point over the years. It’s scratched and dented, but Party had prettied it up a little bit with some yellow paint and slapped a cool-ass lightning bolt on the side. They’d have added some stars too, to keep more with Jet’s brand, but they thought that might tip BL/ind off too early. Also, they’d run out of yellow paint.

Jet puts the helmet on, his beautiful face disappearing from sight, and he rolls his shoulders once it’s secure.

“How’s it feel?” Party asks.

“Good.” Jet’s voice is muffled by the helmet, of course. “Yeah, no, it’s great. Thanks, Party.”

“Only the best for my gorgeous boyfriend.”

“Can we go?” Ghoul interrupts. He’s got his monster mask in place. “Kobes can’t keep this up forever.”

“Yeah, shit, we gotta move.” Party grabs the radio first, handing it to Jet. “Grab the biggest bag outta the trunk--” they flick their wrist then, opening the trunk before they can forget, “--and get Monster’s gang to grab their stuff, too. Answer if Newsie or Hot Chimp call ya, got it?” They turn to Ghoul and Kobra in the backseat. “Ghoul, get Kobra closer to the wall. Watch for patrols. I’ll find ya once I find the door.”

Without waiting for anyone to reply, Party slumps in their seat, leaving their body behind and pushing their spirit out of the car and over the piles of junk surrounding them.

Their visibility’s not great, of course, thanks to the sandstorm, but it’s nowhere near as dark as when they’d had to maneuver through Jet’s sandstorm a couple weeks ago. Of course, that was a  _ real _ sandstorm, and this is just a fake one caused by Kobra periodically slamming sound waves into the ground to send the sand billowing into the air.

The city rebels hadn’t been able to give Dr. D the exact location of their hidden entrance into the city in case their transmission was intercepted, but they’d given him an important clue, which he’d passed on to Party.

So now Party’s gotta examine every junky car they come across, looking for a crudely-drawn chicken on the driver’s side door.

They keep themself low to the ground so they can see through the swirling sand, peering closely at everything from near-pristine Trans Ams (and, fuck, this thing looks nicer than Party’s had when they’d first found it, what the fuck?  _ This _ is garbage to BL/ind?) to burnt-out, twisted shells. Hot Chimp had told them that this was the correct area to search--she’d managed to narrow it down based on other clues the rebels had passed on--but if she’s wrong...well. She’d better not be wrong.

Party pauses when they come across a particular car. It’s clearly been here for a while, the glass shattered out of each window, rust creeping along the metal body, holes torn in the seats from what they can only assume were rats or some feral animal escaped from the city. The sight of the car sends a pang through them, reminding them of that day, years ago, when they’d escaped the city with Kobra, and had rested in a car just like this one.

And it’s clearly not the same car, because they hadn’t even gone this way when they’d escaped, but it just...reminds them of it. That first taste of freedom, when it hadn’t even yet registered that they were free because they still had so far to go. 

It’s a bittersweet memory.

They turn to keep searching when they catch sight of something on the car door, and they move forward to examine it closer, and-- _ oh. _

Scratched into the rust and grime at the bottom left corner of the driver’s side door is...well, it might be a chicken. The “crudely drawn” portion of the description was certainly accurate.

Anyway, artistic abilities aside, this is definitely what they were looking for. Which means now they have to do the really hard part: finding the underground passageway located nearby.

They don’t need to breathe in this form, of course, but somehow it’s easier for them to dive down into the ground if they pretend to take a deep breath first. 

Pressing their spirit down into the ground is unpleasant, dark. They can’t feel anything in this form of course, but the last time they’d gone underground like this, it had only been a couple of feet down that they’d emerged into the cave. Here, they don’t even know exactly where the tunnel is, or how wide it is, or how far down. 

It feels like forever that they’re in the dirt, moving back and forth in wide sweeps and going deeper and deeper, and they can’t even be sure that they’re moving anywhere because they can’t see or feel anything. Maybe they’re stuck. Maybe they’re frozen here, and they’ll have to stay here for the rest of eternity, bound to the dirt just outside of Battery City! A fate worse than fucking  _ death! _

Suddenly, they tumble out into what looks like a cross between the Batt City maintenance tunnels and the desert cave they’d smooched Jet in for the first time. The walls are largely dirt, with a few rods or sheets of metal here and there, probably to add stability. Fluorescent light bulbs dangle periodically from the ceiling, spaced far enough apart that sections of the tunnel are in almost complete darkness. Spooky.

This has gotta be the rebels’ secret tunnel. Fuck yeah!

Now they just need to find the entrance. But which way do they go? Left or right? Fuck. Being in the ground like that had totally screwed up their sense of direction, and now they have no idea which way will take them to the junkyard door and which will take them to the city. They don’t have time for this!

With an inaudible sigh, they push themself straight up, back through the dirt and up into the open air to get their bearings.

The sandstorm is really dying down now, with just a thin veil of sand swirling around the area. Kobra must be real fuckin’ tired.

_ ‘I am,’ _ they faintly feel Kobra think to them.  _ ‘So hurry the fuck up.’ _

__ _ ‘I’m workin’ on it!’ _ they send back. Quickly, they look around, figure out which way is which, and then they dive back down into the tunnel. Left it is then.

The tunnel is long, curving gently, but thankfully there don’t seem to be any other branching tunnels, so finding the end of it is easy. And, just as promised, there’s someone waiting for them just inside.

If Kobra hadn’t had to concentrate on the sandstorm, he could have pinpointed them pretty easy, but. Whatever. Party can do stuff like that too.

They don’t spend much time examining this person--just enough to note that they’re a teenager, or maybe in their early twenties--before they’re shooting through the closed door.

They emerge  _ inside _ one of the piles of junk. Like, someone came out here and built a room and made the walls out of junk. Pretty good hiding place, actually--probably looks exactly like every single other pile of junk from the outside--but now Party has to find yet  _ another _ door, which is kind of rude, because they’re in a  _ hurry. _

Party pushes their spirit around the walls of the room. It’s really not too big in here--the ceiling’s maybe seven feet up, and the room itself isn’t much wider than that. They manage to locate the door pretty quickly. It’s an actual car door, still a part of the actual car itself. 

And once they’ve got that figured out, it’s easy enough to trace a path from there to where their little rescue team has gathered against the city wall. 

Party opens their eyes, back in their body, and hurries off to find their friends and lead them into the city.

 

\----------

 

Kobra’s exhausted. 

He hadn’t exactly slept well the night before, too focused on his anxiety--as well as picking up on Party and Jet’s from the other room--to do more than nod off for a few minutes at a time. He’d gotten so bad that he’d started projecting his feelings, too, interrupting Ghoul’s sleep.

He’d gotten maybe a solid two-hour block of sleep, and that’s only because Ghoul had strong armed him into focusing on Ghoul’s mind and Ghoul’s mind only, and though Ghoul was worried, too, the feeling hadn’t been nearly as overwhelming as Kobra’s own worry was.

And then, of course, he’d had to spend over an hour keeping a pseudo-sandstorm going in order to keep their vehicles from being spotted by BL/ind as they approached the city. He rarely uses his sound-based powers for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and even then it isn’t  _ constant. _ But he’s had to keep feeding sounds into the wall he created, to keep the storm from dying down too much.

Now he knows how Party had felt when they’d used all that energy telekinetically pushing the car faster last month. Fuck.

And now the sandstorm’s barely there, just a thin cover around them. He’s still feeding it, but in smaller amounts, with longer periods of silence in between. There’s not as much sound here, right outside of Battery City, with no engines going. No one’s talking, in case there’s surveillance nearby, and Ghoul definitely can’t scream here, so he has to make due with the quiet skitterings of rats, the shuffle of sand under their feet.

He’s slumped over Ghoul’s shoulders, partially because he loves Ghoul and will take basically any opportunity to get physical contact with him, but mostly because he’s honestly too fucking exhausted to stand upright by himself.

His mind is open to all the people around him, because he doesn’t have the energy to throw up mental shields of any kind, which sucks because that’s six people more than usual, plus the ambient thoughts of anyone inside the city near enough the wall for him to pick up, and it’s really hard to pick out individual thoughts when everyone around you is basically screaming in your head.

Still, he does manage to pick out Party’s thoughts at one point--probably because they’re thinking about how tired he is, the bastard.

He concentrates hard, sends them,  _ ‘I am. So hurry the fuck up.’ _ He has no idea if they reply or not, because the thoughts of everyone around him directly blocks out any chance he had of picking their thoughts out again.

On the bright side, Party should find the path pretty soon, so hopefully he’ll get to take a fucking nap soon.

“Kobes,” Ghoul says, voice quiet. “You doin’ okay?”

Kobra groans in response. Neither of them should be talking. It’s too dangerous. He can’t get up the energy to think it to him, though, so hopefully Ghoul gets what he means.

Apparently he doesn’t. “Storm’s almost dead,” he whispers. Kobra can barely hear him, so hopefully they’ll be okay even if BL/ind  _ does _ have microphones here or something. Oh, wait, shit. The storm.

Kobra lifts his head from where he’s been resting it against Ghoul’s neck, thinks as hard as he can, flexes his fingers and sends a fresh blast of sounds out. The sound waves kick up more sand and strengthen the storm, thickening the cloud around them.

He drops his head against Ghoul again. Fuck, he hasn’t felt this drained in years. Not since those few months when he tried to keep his mental shields up all the time. How old was he? Eighteen? Nineteen? Whatever. He’s tired.

“Kobes,” Ghoul says, shifting, and it’s really disconcerting, because Kobra was just getting  _ comfortable, _ but now he’s being jostled and that kinda sucks. “Kobes,” he says again, louder, sharper. He pushes on Kobra’s arms, which is  _ really _ annoying. “Kobra, wake up!”

Kobra jolts at that, briefly straightening up and then almost immediately falling back onto Ghoul. Fuck, he’s just so  _ tired. _ Surely he can just rest his eyes for a few minutes, just until Party gets here. Right? Yeah.

He must sleep, or pass out, or something, because the next thing he knows, he’s laying over something which is decidedly  _ not _ Ghoul, but definitely a person, and he’s moving. His arms and legs are dangling uncomfortably, and he’s disoriented, and his first instinct is to kick out, so he does, and--

_ “Ow!” _ The person carrying him jolts, and nearly drops him, but tightens their grip. “Kobra? You awake?”

Oh. Jet’s voice. Jet’s carrying him. Shit, wait, where are they? Are they in the city yet? Did Jet carry him all the way into the city?

He lifts his head a little, and they’re still in the junkyard. The sandstorm’s basically gone now, just a few drifts sliding around them. He raises his hand--god, that’s such a struggle--and focuses, aims, but--nothing happens.

Fuck.

He groans, slumping back down. He’s exhausted. Literally goddamn exhausted. He can’t use his power. He can barely keep his eyes open.  _ Can’t _ keep his eyes open.

He wakes up once more, and notices it’s darker now, but that’s all he can really comprehend. Just before he falls asleep again, he hears an unfamiliar voice nearby, but he’s out before he can even hope to process what they’re saying.

 

\----------

 

When Kobra passes out from exhaustion, nearly causing Ghoul to topple over, Jet’s close enough that he just manages to catch them both.

No one says anything, because they don’t want to risk it more than they already have, so Jet just takes Kobra off Ghoul’s shoulders, shifting to take his weight on himself, and keeps watching for Party.

They’re all standing between the high, white city wall and a precariously-balanced stack of cars and machinery parts. Ghoul’s standing beside him, with Kobra slumped over between them. On Jet’s other side, the four others: Monster Alarm, Coastal Cooler, Fruit Punch, and Wild Strawberry. They’re huddled close together, but still vigilant, watching for any possible BL/ind agents. DJ Hot Chimp and NewsAGoGo are in their van, parked farther away, hidden from view.

The sandstorm’s dying down quickly now that Kobra’s not able to keep it going. It should be fine, because they shouldn’t be out here too much longer, but that doesn’t stop the gnawing worry from eating at Jet’s insides. His fingers twitch insistently at his side, and he clenches his hand into a fist to still their movements. If only he could choose what disasters to start! He could keep it going for a little while, at least. But even though he could aim his power and adjust the scale of it, it was still way too dangerous with all the stuff around them.

Party reappears then, their furry blue helmet the first thing Jet spots as they emerge from around the side of another scrap pile. They lift their arm, wave it, then turn and walk away again. They found the entrance, then!   
Jet quickly slings Kobra over his shoulder, keeping his arm tight around him, and follows after Party. Kobra’s taller than Party, with longer limbs, so it’s not nearly as easy to carry him as it is to carry Party, but it’s doable.

They move quickly, ducking around cars and weaving through the towering piles. Party, Ghoul, Jet and Kobra, with the other four behind him. 

Kobra wakes up, once, he thinks--Kobra kicks out, throwing him off balance for a moment, and he groans, but then he’s out again. Jet focuses on putting one foot in front of the other so he won’t get overwhelmed with worry. Again.

The entrance is nothing like he expected: they have to crawl through a car and  _ into _ a scrap pile. Which would be easier if Kobra was awake, but Jet’s not gonna blame him for passing out, not after using his power for so long.

Jet’s the last one through, passing Kobra carefully through the car into one of the tall ones’ arms--Coastal Cooler--and then following, shutting both doors behind him.

“This is it,” Party whispers. Jet fights back the spike of alarm at the sound of their voice. Clearly, BL/ind can’t know about this place since it’s a  _ secret rebel entryway, _ so they can’t possibly have surveillance here, but still. He’s nervous.

He takes Kobra back from Coastal Cooler, nods his thanks. “So where do we go now?” he asks, keeping his own voice down.

“Probably through that little door down there, huh?” One of the other members of Monster Alarm’s gang, Fruit Punch, loudly suggests, pointing down at where there is indeed a small door set into the ground.

The smallest member of the group, Wild Strawberry, punches her in the arm. “Keep your  _ voice _ down,” they hiss. 

“Sorry,” she says, only a little quieter.

Party leads them over to the door, kneels down beside it, and knocks twice. Three times. Twice again. There’s a pattern to it, and Jet figures it must be a code to let the rebels know who they are.

There’s a pause, and then the door opens outward, swinging up and landing in the sand with a soft  _ thud. _ A hand emerges, a shockingly white ray gun clutched in its grip, and Jet’s blood freezes.

It’s a trap. It’s a trick, a trap; that’s a BL/ind exterminator here to capture them all and brainwash them, it  _ has  _ to be, because why else would they have a gun, why would they be aiming it at them all, oh god, oh  _ fuck, _ what can he do?

“State your name and business,” says an unknown voice from inside.

Everyone’s on high alert, weapons brandished or stances changed to aid in either fight or flight. Beside him, Ghoul stands with his fists clenched at his sides, his chin jutting forward. Jet himself holds Kobra in a loose grip, unsure of whether he’s going to have to drop him to fight, or hold him tighter and try to make a run for it.

Party’s the only one who seems calm. “Party Poison,” they say evenly, “and my associates. There’s eight of us in the room. We’re here to see if we can’t bust some of our friends outta the city.”

There’s a pause, and then the gun disappears back down into the ground, and someone’s face appears instead, grinning at them.

“Party Poison!” they say happily. “And--holy fuck, Fun Ghoul! Fuck, Red said you’d be comin’, but I didn’t really  _ believe _ him, you know, I mean it’s not every day you meet an  _ actual _ supervillain in the  _ flesh!” _

Ghoul grunts in response. He doesn’t seem to know how to react.

Jet, for his part, feels a wave of relief wash over him. There’s no way this person--they look like a teenager, but he’s not quite sure--could be a BL/ind agent. They’re wearing white, yes, but their dark hair is pulled back from their face with a bright blue scrap of fabric, and they’re wearing neon green lipstick. Those are definitely not BL/ind-regulation, and since even normal Battery City citizens avoid wearing color--anything besides white and black, and the occasional gray--for the most part, they can only be one of the rebels.

“Come on, everyone come on in,” the rebel says, ducking back down. “We’ve got a ways to go, and if we don’t beat the first patrol we’ll be stuck down here for  _ hours _ until we can slip through again.”

Everyone follows them down into the earth. Jet goes last again, handing Kobra down to Party and Ghoul, this time, before climbing down himself. 

There’s no ladder, no stairs, but the drop isn’t very far. When he’s standing, the ceiling is just a few inches taller than he is. It’s easy enough to pull the door shut behind them, and then let his eyes adjust to the sudden fluorescent lights which light the dirt-tunnel they’ve found themselves in.

“So!” the rebel claps their hands in front of them, pulling everyone’s attention to them. “I’m Limelight, and we’re just gonna jog down this tunnel, and when we get to the part with the red marks on the walls, no one’s gonna talk anymore because we don’t wanna get caught by the BL/ind patrol. Got it? Good,” they say, turning without waiting for a response. “Then let’s go!”

And so they all make their way back to Battery City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kobra's not having a very good time, is he? ;u;
> 
> LIFE NOTE: I'll be moving in about a week! I have the next couple of chapters already written, but the final chapter + epilogue aren't quite finished, and things will be hectic for a while, so there may be a delay of a week or two sometime soon. Please forgive me and understand that I'm doing my best!!
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave kudos or a comment! i'd love to hear your thoughts! :D
> 
> see you next week!! <3


	21. Come Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rebels make their way into the city.  
> Fun Ghoul is confronted by his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 28! :D Happy early birthday to Ray Toro, a guitar god and also my figurative father who is more than welcome to adopt me if he would at any point like an adult child with an anxiety disorder! <3
> 
> big thank you to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading and for crying over one particular scene multiple times and also for supporting me through some huge life decisions!! i love you so much!! <3  
> also big thank you to tumblr user beet-delinquent for drawing some good good ART from chpter 16!! link in the end notes! :D
> 
> okay, please enjoy the chapter!! :D
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: detailed panic attack

Jet shouldn’t be surprised to learn that there’s a secret intricate system of tunnels beneath the city, and yet he is. Even having worked for BL/ind for nearly a decade, employed to take down rebels and their sympathizers, he’s never known about any of this. Never even suspected it, honestly.

He knows he was supposed to be on the lookout for things like this, places where people gathered in secrecy, the routes they took to avoid detection, but these tunnels are extensive and look to be the work of years, if not decades. Generations, maybe. Do any of the Better Living executives know about these? Do they suspect their existence?

None of that matters right now, he reminds himself. He’s not with BL/ind anymore, and he has a different mission to focus on. He can consider the tunnel system and rebel movements once he gets back home with all their friends.

Kobra is heavy over his shoulder, and when Limelight leads them into a wide, open room, the place where they’ll be waiting until they get the all-clear to continue on to the safehouse, he immediately looks around for somewhere comfortable to lay him. 

There’s nothing that suits the purpose, though. There’s no furniture at all, aside from rickety shelves pressed against the walls. No blankets, either--at least, nothing plainly visible. There are some boxes on the shelves--white, with the BL/ind logo displayed prominently--but he suspects they hold food or other such supplies.

“Sorry we don’t have any, uh, comfort items or chairs or whatever,” Limelight says, and Jet has to wonder if  _ they _ can read his mind. “People don’t usually camp out in the warehouse, you know?”

“It’s fine,” Jet says, because he can’t exactly complain about the accommodations of an illegal underground smuggling ring, “but, uh, is there something soft I can lay Kobra on?”

Ghoul’s standing beside him, and he nods frantically at the suggestion, reaching up to touch Kobra’s arm. Jet exchanges a worried look with Party, on Ghoul’s other side. He’s noticed that Ghoul doesn’t typically like to go out anywhere without Kobra, so the fact that Kobra’s currently out of commission is probably messing with his head.

“Oh, uh, there’s some clothes and stuff, you can use some as a pillow?” Limelight moves forward, probably to take a closer look at Kobra, and suddenly Ghoul’s shoving himself against Jet, planting himself between them and Kobra. A human shield, protecting him from perceived harm. Fuck, Kobra better wake up soon or Ghoul’s gonna go crazy.

“Fun Ghoul?” Limelight asks, backing up a step. “Uh. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kobra says, which is weird because Kobra’s still passed out on Jet’s shoulder. “Just get somethin’ for Kobra.”

Jet feels himself frowning at that, because he’s pretty sure that Kobra’s never had much of a penchant for speaking in the third-person. He glances over and immediately realizes that wasn’t Kobra, but  _ Ghoul _ who was speaking. In Kobra’s voice. Which is--weird? Definitely weird. Worrying? Maybe? Why would he be speaking in Kobra’s voice?

He exchanges another concerned look with Party, who quickly ducks in to help him lay Kobra out on the hard-packed dirt floor.

“Is Ghoul okay?” Jet whispers--and realizes he’s still wearing his helmet, which is muffling his voice. Fuck. He’s going to have to take his helmet off.

He’s an ex-superhero, someone employed by BL/ind to  _ hunt down _ rebels. He hadn’t even thought about this, until now, but chances are the rebels they meet here are going to recognize him, going to know him from his time patrolling the streets. They won’t trust him, might think he’s still with BL/ind, might kick them all back out of the city and leave them back at square one.

Why hadn’t he thought about this? Shit.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Party says quietly, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Well, sort of. Ghoul’s definitely freaked. He borrows Kobra’s voice when he’s nervous, sometimes. Not on purpose. He’ll...be fine. Just, kinda stick by him?”

Jet nods. “Got it,” he says. He’s not exactly a stranger to automatic defensive actions, after all. 

Party takes their helmet off, shaking out their hair. “Gonna go talk to Limelight,” they say. “See if I can’t get some info, make some plans.”

Jet nods. He hesitates a moment, then pulls his own helmet off, setting it off to the side beside Party’s. There must be something his expression that tips Party off to the fact that he’s a little worried about  _ something, _ because they lean toward him, placing their hand on the side of his neck. “You’ll be okay?” they ask. 

“Yeah,” Jet says. He can’t really explain his misgivings, not with Limelight so close by, not with Ghoul hovering over Kobra and the others pressed close by, too. He doesn’t want to draw attention to it, to his face, and he can’t rely on Kobra to pass the information on while he’s sleeping. So, Jet shakes his head, gives Party the most sincere smile he can. “I’ll stay with Ghoul and Kobra. Hopefully we can get moving soon.”

Party nods, and smiles at him, squeezes his shoulder once before dropping their arm back to their side. They take Monster Alarm with them to go talk to Limelight, and Jet turns his attention back to Ghoul.

He’s crouched on the floor beside Kobra’s prone form, Kobra’s hand clutched in his own and the infamous  _ Good Luck _ helmet laying nearby. Ghoul’s worrying at his lower lip, staring intently at Kobra’s pale face. 

Neither of them look very good right now.

Jet reaches into one of the bags they’d brought along and fishes out a canteen. “Hey, Ghoul,” he says quietly, uncapping it. “I don’t know if it’ll help, but…” he shrugs, passing it over when Ghoul looks at him, “it probably can’t hurt, right?” Ghoul’s still wearing his monster mask, but Jet doesn’t think that’s a problem. It probably helps him to keep his face hidden.

Jet would certainly like to keep  _ his _ face hidden.

Kobra drinks the water Ghoul pours down his throat without any trouble, which is probably a good sign.

Jet kneels down on Kobra’s other side. He doesn’t really know how to care for Kobra, or how to comfort Ghoul, but if Party’s right then hopefully just being here for him--for both of them--will be enough.

It’s kind of weird, knowing he’s underneath Battery City. This room looks enough like something he’d find in the desert that it doesn’t seem quite  _ right _ that it could have  _ anything _ to do with the city, so he doesn’t think the full gravity of the situation has really hit him yet.

Once they get moving, and he has to go up on the streets, though...well, he doesn’t know how he’ll handle it. Hopefully not by going into his perfect soldier mode.

Ghoul reaches up suddenly and pulls his monster mask off, setting it gingerly beside Kobra’s helmet. Jet sends him a quizzical look, but Ghoul’s not looking at him.

He’s looking at Kobra, who’s starting to move.

Ghoul hurries to help him sit up, and once Jet’s sure that, yes, Kobra’s fine, he backs up, giving the two of them some space.

Well, that’s one less thing to worry about.

Jet glances over at Party, wondering if he should go over to them now, but they’re still talking with Limelight, and...well, Jet’s definitely not ready to risk being recognized yet.

“Kobra,” Ghoul says, and he’s still using Kobra’s voice. “Kobes, you awake? You okay?”

Kobra groans, blinking his eyes open. “No,” he says after a moment. “Wanna pull a Party an’ sleep for a few days.”

“Bad idea,” Ghoul says, and Kobra turns his head to stare at him. They’re silent for a few long moments, doing that thing that definitely means they’re talking mind-to-mind, and Jet glances away again.

Monster Alarm’s gang, sans Monster Alarm, are sitting nearby in the corner. They’re piled against each other, limbs pressed against each other’s, leaning on one another’s shoulders, talking amongst themselves. They all look ready to move.

Too bad they’re stuck here for a while.

“Sorry,” Ghoul says, and this time he actually sounds like  _ himself, _ like  _ Ghoul. _ Jet looks over at him, relieved. “This better?”

“Better,” Kobra says with a nod. “Always better when I can hear your voice.”

“Shut up,” Ghoul says, but he’s smiling. A moment later, he makes a little “oh” sound and shoves the canteen into Kobra’s hands. “Drink this. Getcha some food when we can.”

Jet turns away again, steps further back. Even if he considers Ghoul and Kobra his family, it still feels intrusive to watch this, feels like he’s witnessing something intimate, somehow. 

He looks over at Party again and finds them watching the scene, a look of relief on their face. Monster Alarm is still talking to Limelight, and though he can’t quite make out what she’s saying, she seems upset. Angry. No doubt she’s trying to urge Limelight into letting them all leave  _ now _ instead of waiting, or trying to gather information on Kiwi Blast’s whereabouts. The other members of her gang may be antsy, but she’s certainly the most agitated.

Jet wonders what her relationship is with Kiwi Blast, really. He remembers her calling him her “cupie” that night at the bar, but he doesn’t know what the term means. From the little he’d seen of the two interacting, they’d seemed close.

He doesn’t realize, for several long seconds, that Limelight is staring directly at him.

He freezes, staring back. Their lips are pursed, their eyebrows pulled together. They’re trying to place where they’ve seen him before, he can tell. 

He looks away, over at where Fruit Punch and Coastal Cooler are sitting in a tangle of limbs. Wild Strawberry sends him a weird look, but he barely registers it, too caught up in his own thoughts. Fuck. If they recognize him, this could be it. The whole mission could go out the window, and Pony and Kiwi Blast and everyone else will be left here to rot and obey BL/ind and, and,  _ and--! _

__ _ ‘Calm down,’ _ Kobra’s thoughts cut through his own.  _ ‘Your panic is hurtin’ my brain.’ _

__ _ ‘Sorry,’ _ Jet thinks back. He presses his hand over his chest, takes a deep breath. Limelight won’t recognize him. Right? Fuck. He was a  _ superhero, _ his face plastered on posters and Better Living TV ads and  _ cereal boxes. _ Of  _ course _ they’ll recognize him!

He should have kept his damn helmet on.

_ ‘How are you?’ _ He silently asks Kobra a moment later, like a pleasantry exchanged over a morning can of Power-Pup or some shit.

_ ‘Better,’ _ Kobra replies, and Jet glances over to see him leaning on Ghoul, slumped over with his cheek pressed against Ghoul’s shoulder.  _ ‘Better than you’re about to feel, anyway. Incoming.’ _

_ ‘What do you mean?’ _ Jet sends, but he’s barely formed the thought before there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he’s being twisted around to look Limelight in the eye.

He swallows. “Uh,” he says.

“I  _ knew _ it!” Limelight exclaims, eyes wide. “You’re Jet Star, the superhero who went rogue last month!”

“Uh, um.” Jet’s mind is racing, too fast for him to properly keep up. Can he deny it? No, probably not, they’re already staring at him, they’ve seen his face everywhere. Does he have any choice, really?

“Yes,” he says, slowly. “That’s--I mean. I’m Jet Star. I used to work for BL/ind. As a superhero. Uh.” Fuck, what else does he say?! He doesn’t dare tear his gaze away from Limelight’s to look at Party for help, and Kobra is, for once, silent in his mind. Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck! _

“Wait.” Monster Alarm speaks up, stepping forward. “You were a  _ what?” _

“Um.” Oh, shit, yeah. This is  _ not _ going well.

“You fuckin’  _ worked _ for the bastards who stole Kiwi?” Monster Alarm hisses. She moves closer, mouth twisted into a snarl.

“He’s a rebel.”

Jet blinks, looking at Limelight, who’s frowning at Monster Alarm. Wait. Is Limelight... _ defending _ him?

Party appears beside him, their hand on his elbow, a calming presence.

Monster Alarm looks between Jet and Limelight, then settles on Party. “You knew about this,” she says, “and you brought him to our  _ stronghold?” _

“He broke me out,” Party tells her. “He risked his goddamn  _ life _ to get me outta BL/ind’s hands, some fuckin’  _ stranger _ he’d never met!” Their hand tightens on his elbow. “Of  _ course _ I brought him to our stronghold! He needed  _ out!” _

It’s a mixture of pride and embarrassment Jet’s feeling now, having it stated like that. He shifts, pulling his arm from Party’s grip and taking their hand in his own, instead. He’d do it again, if he had to. Would risk it all for Party, risk it all for anyone in this room. Fuck, wait. That’s what they’re all doing right now. Right.

He smiles at Party, who smiles back and squeezes his hand. Why was he upset, again?

“That doesn’t--I mean, he still worked for BL/ind!” Monster Alarm says, and, oh. Right.

“Not by choice!” It’s Limelight who says that, startling Jet yet again. How would they know that? “He never even did anything to anyone, except for after re-education, when he had no choice!”

Monster Alarm frowns at Limelight for a moment, then turns back to Jet. She still looks suspicious, but...less so, now. “You been re-educated?” she asks.

Jet nods, unsure. “A few times,” he says. “I...don’t remember much about, um. During. Or after.” He bites his lip, and Party squeezes his hand again.

It’s quiet, then. The only sounds the murmuring of Monster Alarm’s gang in the corner. Then she sighs, and nods. “I get it,” she says. “Kiwi--he went through some shit in the city. With BL/ind. They’re all bastards.” She meets his eye again, and her expression is softer now. “Good thing ya got outta there,” she says, and turns away, going back over to her gang.

Jet watches her go. Hopes he can get Kiwi Blast out, soon.

“Anyway,” Limelight says, pulling his attention back to them again, “your face is, like,  _ everywhere _ up top. You really pissed off the big boss, ya know? You’re gonna have to be really careful to keep from bein’ spotted.”

“Oh.” That...makes a lot of sense. Unfortunately. “Right, uh, thanks for the warning.”

Limelight nods, and gives him a grin. “‘Course. Thanks for doin’ your best, considerin’ the circumstances.” They walk away, over toward the doors. Huh. That’s not how he was expecting that to go.

“Hey,” Party says, softly. Jet gives them his full attention. “You okay?”

Jet thinks, for a moment, and then smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think I am.”

And Party grins, and kisses the corner of his mouth, and tugs him back over to Kobra and Ghoul.

 

\----------

 

It’s a couple of hours later, and Ghoul’s feeling a lot calmer now, sitting pressed between Kobra and Party, Kobra’s arm draped across his shoulders. Everything’s easier when he’s got Kobra with him.

With nothing to do, Ghoul’s been thinking. Not about anything in particular, just...thinking. He doesn’t remember much about Battery City. Why would he? He only lived there for the first five years of his life. Most of what he knows about it come from stories he’s heard growing up, or rumors passed around whichever stronghold he was currently living in.

He remembers lots of buildings, pressed tightly together. White, blinding in the sunshine. He remembers people, vaguely. Far more than live in any one stronghold--probably more than live in the entire desert. He remembers a soft bed, warm arms. Nothing else, not really. A few snippets of a life he doesn’t remember living.

_ ‘That’s about it,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘Monochrome buildings, monotonous lives. I can’t believe there are people who live that way their entire lives, without even needing the pills or the brainwashing.’ _

__ _ ‘It’s fucked up,’ _ Ghoul agrees. He lays his head against Kobra’s shoulder.  _ ‘Wonder if I woulda been one’a those people. If I’d stayed.’ _

__ _ ‘If you didn’t have your power?’ _ Kobra’s grip tightens around his shoulders.  _ ‘...No. Even if you were born normal, even if you’d been raised like that...no way. You’d’ve been a rebel either way.’ _

__ Ghoul hums quietly in response. He hopes Kobra’s right. He doesn’t like the idea that he could have lived his whole life quiet and obedient. Not that it matters, since things turned out the way they did, but…

He just doesn’t want to think of that.

There’s a rhythmic knocking at the door on the opposite side of the room from where they’d come in. Two beats, pause, one beat, pause, three beats, four beats, one beat. A code, obviously.

“Oh!” Limelight leaps to their feet, hurrying across the room. “That’s gotta be them!” 

“Aw, fuckin’  _ finally,” _ Monster Alarm says from where she’s curled up with her gang. “Now we can get  _ movin’! _ We’re comin’ for ya, Kiwi!”

“No, we still have to wait a bit,” Limelight says. “Not much longer, but we can’t just go bursting out onto the streets.”

“Bummer,” Coastal Cooler says. He’s fiddling with Fruit Punch’s hair, and neither of them seem inclined to move until they’ve got to.

Ghoul watches Limelight unlock the door. There are three visible locks above the door’s handle, which unlock with a simple sliding bolt, but there are several others along the top and bottom of the door, which open in a more complicated fashion, and two more sliding bolts on the hinge side of the door. Opening it is an ordeal, and he can understand the need for security, but he also knows that he, Kobra, Party, or even Jet could open it in an instant, without even needing to search out every lock. There’s probably some superheroes in BL/ind’s employ who could do the same thing.

The door opens, and Limelight steps back to usher in two people. They’re both middle-aged with dark hair, dressed in the solid, startling white of BL/ind agents.

Ghoul tenses us, and he feels Party do the same thing beside him. The only thing that keeps him from jumping up and running, or from firing off a scream, is Kobra’s grounding presence beside him.

_ ‘It’s Red and Hen,’ _ Kobra assures him.  _ ‘They’re on our side.’ _

Party relaxes on his other side, so Ghoul assumes Kobra’s telling them both at once--maybe Jet, too.

_ ‘Are they actually with BL/ind?’ _ Ghoul thinks to him. He turns his attention back to Limelight and the newcomers--Red Rooster and Mother Hen, in the flesh. The desert’s most infamous suppliers.

_ ‘They’re agents,’ _ Kobra thinks to him a moment later.  _ ‘But they’re definitely rebels.’ _

If Kobra says they’re safe, he’ll believe it. Ghoul nods.

Limelight leads Red and Hen over. “Red Rooster and Mother Hen!” they say, beaming. “The best smugglers in the city!”

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman, Mother Hen, says. “The infamous supervillains, always a thorn in BL/ind’s side.” She has a wide,excited grin, and there’s something about her voice that strikes a chord in Ghoul, though he can’t name the exact feeling, or place the reason why.

“And if it isn’t the rogue superhero, Jet Star.” Red Rooster grins at Jet, sitting on Party’s other side. “We were hoping you’d make it out at some point. Your escape was brilliant; Better Living’s  _ never _ had such a thing happen. They were doing damage control for--hm. Actually, they’re  _ still _ doing damage control. That was quite inspiring to many of us.” 

There’s something about him that gives Ghoul the same feeling as Mother Hen, but he just can’t figure it out. He looks up at Kobra, but Kobra’s not looking at him. He’s watching Red and Hen, eyes narrowed. Weird.

“I never would have thought the two of you were rebels,” he hears Jet say, tone surprised. “You always seemed like the ideal employees.”

“A necessary evil,” Red says with a frown. “We have easier access to information and supplies the desert rebels need from inside BL/ind, and to keep suspicion off of us….” He shrugs.

Party stands up then, holding their hand out. “Party Poison,” they say, “since ya already know my gang. Wanna thank ya for all the help you’re givin’ us. If it wasn’t for you and Limelight here, we’d’a been snatched up at the gate and tossed in with the rebels we’re tryin’ to bust out.”

Red’s expression clears up immediately, and he takes Party’s hand in a firm handshake. “Everyone opposing BL/ind needs to work together,” he says. “We’re glad to help however we can.” 

And Ghoul just can’t shake the feeling that there’s something  _ about _ them, something... _ familiar, _ but he has no idea  _ what _ or  _ why. _

Monster Alarm steps forward then to introduce herself and her gang, and while she’s talking, Ghoul realizes that Mother Hen is staring at him.

He stares back, putting on his most intimidating glare, pulling his lips into a snarl. Why the fuck is she staring at him? He hasn’t even said anything since they came in. What the hell?

_ ‘Oh my god.’ _ Kobra goes stiff beside him, and Ghoul blinks, whips his head around to look up at him. He’s staring at Mother Hen, eyes wide.

“What?” Ghoul asks out loud. “Kobra, what the fuck?”

_ ‘Oh my god,’ _ he repeats. He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t shift his gaze from Mother Hen.

It’s fuckin’ creepy. It’s fuckin’ nerve-wracking. What the hell? 

“Uh,” says Limelight. “...Hen? Everything okay?”

With how weird everyone’s acting, Ghoul’s not surprised when things get even weirder from there. 

He’s not surprised when Hen turns to Red Rooster and says, in an urgent tone,  _ “Red.” _

What does surprise him, though, is how Red Rooster then zeroes in on him, how his eyes widen in what Ghoul can only think of as  _ recognition. _ How Red Rooster opens his mouth and lets out a choked noise.

What does surprise him, though, is how Red Rooster says, voice thick with emotion,  _ “Dante.” _

Because that’s Ghoul’s fucking name. His old name, the name he was given as a baby, the name he left the city with, the name he got rid of as a teenager. The name no one should even  _ know _ anymore, no one except Kobra, no one except a handful of people who’d known him as a kid, who’d probably already forgotten about him by now, no one except--

Ghoul freezes as the realization hits him. Because, no.  _ Fuck _ no, there’s no fucking--there’s no fucking  _ way _ this could be happening.   
“Dante,” Red Rooster says again, voice clearer now. “Dante, it--it  _ is _ you, isn’t it?”

And what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?! There’s no way. This--

This isn’t real. It’s not happening. It’s an illusion, a vision, something created by that BL/ind superhero Party and Jet were telling him about, something created to fuck with his mind, something--

_ ‘Ghoul,’ _ Kobra’s thoughts interrupt his own, and Ghoul realizes that he’s standing, staring into Red’s eyes.  _ ‘It’s them. It really is. Ghoul, they’re--’ _

Even Kobra can be wrong sometimes. That’s--that’s the only explanation for all this. This is an illusion, and Kobra’s wrong, and none of this is real because there’s no fucking way  _ Ghoul’s parents _ are standing here, in front of him, right now.

“I don’t know you,” he blurts out. He feels stiff and jittery at the same time. He wants to curl against Kobra’s side and pretend this isn’t happening. He wants to bolt back down the long dirt tunnel they’d come through. He wants to go to sleep and wake up back on his mattress in the diner, wrapped around Kobra, and find out that this whole thing--the missing rebels, Kobra’s exhaustion, his fucking  _ parents, _ if that’s who they’re really supposed to be--was all just a dream. 

“Oh shit,” Limelight says. “That’s why you look so familiar--you look just like Hen!”

And it’s that statement that really sets everyone off.

Hen is suddenly in front of him, her hands on his arms, her face too close. “Dante,” she says, “Dante, it’s really you, we never thought we’d find you again, do you remember us?”

And Red is right behind her, leaning over her shoulder, leaning too far into Ghoul’s personal space. “Dante, look how much you’ve grown, we always hoped we’d find you again, we’ve missed you so much.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Party’s voice, too far away. 

“Fun Ghoul is their son.” Limelight, he thinks. “They’ve been looking for--”

“Didn’t expect--” He thinks that might be Fruit Punch.

“Family reunion--”

“Who woulda thought, Fun Ghoul--”

“--saying anything--”

“--doing okay--”

“--missed you, never should have--”

“--our choice, you didn’t--”

It’s too much. Too many voices, too many people, pressed around him, making him feel like he’s trapped. He’s trapped, he can’t tell what anyone is saying, he doesn’t  _ know _ these people, there’s too much noise, hands on his arms, hands on his back, it feels like fire, it feels like ice, there’s too much noise, there’s too many people, nothing makes  _ sense, _ there’s too much  _ noise-- _

The scream erupts from his throat without his consent, without his awareness. It’s only Kobra’s quick reaction, using the dregs of his power to create a buffer between Ghoul and the rest of them, that keeps everyone safe, that keeps the sound from becoming deadly.

It’s quiet, now. Everyone’s silent, staring, except for him. Ghoul feels like he’s going to shake apart, still, can’t even  _ think _ about anything right now, nothing except how blessedly quiet it is, nothing except how he just wants to go  _ home. _

A hand on his back. 

Ghoul jumps away, biting back another scream--no matter what, he can’t repeat that mistake again--but it’s only Kobra. Kobra’s hand, not a stranger’s. 

“Ghoul.” Kobra’s voice, quiet, distant. Why is his voice so distant? Kobra’s standing right in front of him. “Ghoul.”

He shakes his head, but it doesn’t feel quite right.

“I’m gonna help Ghoul calm down,” Kobra says. Ghoul tries to focus on that--on Kobra’s voice, which is slowly sounding closer, more  _ real- _ -and he tries to ignore everything else. Every _ one _ else. “You discuss strategy. I’ll take care of Ghoul.”

A hand on his back again, but this time he knows it’s Kobra’s. He lets Kobra lead him to the farthest corner of the room, lets Kobra sit him down, facing the wall.

_ ‘Ghoul.’ _ Kobra’s thinking, now, not speaking out loud.  _ ‘Five things you can see. You can say it out loud or think it. Whichever’s easiest.’ _

“Dirt,” he says. He still feels jittery. Wants to run. “Shelf. A box, with the BL/ind logo. Your shirt. You.”

_ ‘Okay. Four things you can touch.’ _ __

__ “Dirt,” he says again, because his hands are on the floor in front of him. “My shoes. The shelf. You.”

_ ‘Three things you can hear.’ _

“Everyone talking.” The sounds are quieter now, a murmur from across the room. “Your breathing. A--humming. Electronic humming.”

_ ‘Two things you can smell.’ _

He closes his eyes. Concentrates. “Dirt,” he says for the third time, because really, there’s a  _ lot _ of dirt in here. “Oil. Motor oil.”

_ ‘One thing you can taste.’ _

He opens his mouth, inhales. “Something metallic in the air, I think.”

“Good.” Kobra’s speaking aloud now, and Ghoul opens his eyes, looks at him. “Better?”

He nods. “Thanks.” He feels a lot calmer now, not so jittery. Not so scared. 

Kobra shifts, twisting so that his chest presses against Ghoul’s back,wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin atop his head. The pressure and warmth is just what Ghoul needs. 

He can still hear everyone talking behind them, but he ignores them. Concentrates on Kobra, and on grounding himself.

“It’s true, you know,” Kobra murmurs.

Ghoul bites his lip. “They’re dead,” he mutters. 

“They aren’t.”

“But--”

“You didn’t kill them,” Kobra says. “You were already pretty sure of that. And BL/ind didn’t kill them, we know that now. They’re  _ rebels, _ Ghoul. Smugglers. Red and Hen.”

He can’t wrap his head around it. “But,” he says again, “but, if they’re not dead...where the fuck have they been my  _ whole life?” _

“Here.” Kobra shifts, his nose pressing into the side of Ghoul’s neck. “They’ve been  _ here, _ Ghoul.”

That doesn’t help. If these are really his parents--if  _ Red _ and  _ Hen _ are his parents, if they’re alive, if they’re  _ rebels, _ then why the fuck did he grow up alone, feeling abandoned, feeling fucking  _ unloved _ his entire life, until he was  _ sixteen _ years old? Why weren’t they there? Why didn’t they take him out of the city? Why didn’t they come  _ after _ him, why didn’t they come find him, take care of him?

But no, they were here in the city the whole time, while he was in the desert, passed around from person to person like an old pair of shoes. Fuck that.

“Ghoul.” Kobra’s breath against his skin. Something to focus on. “I don’t think they had a choice.”

Everyone has a choice. They chose to abandon him. 

_ ‘We don’t know that.’ _ Hands on his knees, Kobra’s weight against his back.  _ ‘Ghoul, you don’t have to, fuckin’.. _ .move in  _ with them, or whatever. Just talk to them. They’ve been  _ looking  _ for you.’ _

They chose to abandon him, and Ghoul was alone for over a decade, and they think that now that he’s a big thorn in BL/ind’s side, that they can just...what? Become a part of his life? No. No fuckin’ way.

Besides, it might still be a trick. It’s  _ definitely _ a trick. Somehow.

Kobra sighs against him, nuzzles into his neck.  _ ‘I’ll stay with you,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘They can’t do anythin’ to ya if I’m there, too. Even if it  _ is _ a trick, you’ll be safe.’ _

That sounds okay. Ghoul can talk to them if Kobra’s there. Probably.

Fuck. His  _ parents. _

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, I’ll fuckin’...talk to them. I guess.”

“You’ll be okay,” Kobra promises. Presses a soft kiss against his skin. Pauses. “They’ve got the plan figured out,” he says. “We’ll have to move soon, so if we go over there now, you won’t even have to talk to them long.”

“Okay,” Ghoul says again.

Kobra gets up first, keeping a hand on Ghoul’s shoulder even as he helps him to his feet. They turn together, walking back to the group gathered near the door, and Ghoul focuses on the feeling of Kobra’s hand on his shoulder.

It’s quieter now, and he and Kobra stay on the outskirts of the group, so he doesn’t feel crushed. This is fine.

He takes a deep breath, looks up and meets Mother Hen’s eye. She’s watching him warily, holding herself stiffly, and it makes him nervous.

Kobra’s hand on his shoulder.

Another deep breath. “Fun Ghoul,” he says.

Mother Hen blinks, and then nods, slowly. “Fun Ghoul,” she repeats. “Okay. You...but you  _ are--” _

“He is,” Kobra interrupts. Her gaze shifts to him immediately. “But that isn’t his name anymore.”

“Of course.” She turns to Ghoul again. “Fun Ghoul. I’m...I’m so sorry we crowded you like that. We--your father and I, we were--”

Ghoul’s shaking his head, doesn’t realize he’s doing it until she cuts herself off. He stops, waits for her to continue.

“We were overwhelmed.” Red Rooster’s entered the conversation again. “We’ve been...hoping to find you for a long time. Since you were taken.”

Taken. Not abandoned. Taken.

A trick.

Ghoul nods, stiffly. “I’ve lived in the desert a long time,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“When…” Mother Hen shakes her head. “When we first saw the news, about the rogue supervillains...and we heard that they used sound-based powers, we...well, we--”

“We hoped that one of them was you,” Red Rooster finishes. “And look at this. We were right.”

A trick. 

Ghoul sucks in another deep breath. Kobra’s right beside him. “I thought you were dead,” he says. It’s hard to speak. “I grew up alone. I thought--” he stops himself. He doesn’t want to tell anything to these people. These strangers. “Never mind. We have a job to do. When do we leave?”

He pretends he can’t see how damp Red Rooster’s eyes are, pretends he can’t see the horrified glint in Mother Hen’s. It’s easier that way.

Kobra wraps his arm around Ghoul’s shoulders, squeezes. “We need to get moving,” he says. “Why don’t you lead the way?”

Mother Hen agrees, and turns away, Red Rooster in tow. Ghoul stares at their backs. 

A trick.

_ ‘We’ll do what we came here to do,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘You can talk to them more later. If you want to.’ _

__ _ ‘I don’t,’ _ Ghoul thinks back, glaring at their backs.  _ ‘I don’t want anything to do with them.’ _

Kobra doesn’t respond. He just squeezes Ghoul’s shoulder and pulls him over to Party and Jet to discuss the plans.

 

\----------

 

The plan is to follow Red and Hen--Ghoul’s  _ fucking parents, _ holy shit  _ what?--out _ of the warehouse and into the tunnels, and then to separate into two groups to go up to street level. From there, they’ll make their way to a safehouse, which will serve as their base of operations until they can find the missing rebels and get them all out of the city.

There’s BL/ind-regulation clothing in a variety of sizes in a couple of the boxes on the shelves, and though Party hates it--hates the sterile sameness of the shirts and the pants and the jackets, can practically  _ feel _ themself bleeding away as they strip off all their color and don the gray and white clothes--they know it’s necessary. Some color is acceptable in the city, but wandering the streets in blue leather jackets and tiger-print t-shirts would be a dead giveaway that they don’t belong.

They tie their hair into a high ponytail and tuck as much as they can into a hat Coastal Cooler passes them. They would have liked to stick it to BL/ind and walk around with their red on full display, but...well, that’ll have to wait for the great escape.

Beside them, Jet tugs his own white jacket on, and though it’s a different style from his old superhero uniform, without all the embellishments, Party’s still painfully reminded of their last visit to the city. They turn away when Jet puts a hat on his own head, tugging it down so the visor will cover more of his face.

They don’t like the lack of color, the lack of individuality, but they  _ really _ don’t like the idea of Jet--or anyone else--getting caught because they’re improperly dressed. 

They leave their jacket, their shirt, their pants and boots--their Mousekat helmet--on the shelf beside Jet’s things. They’ll come back for it all. They  _ will. _

Ghoul’s stuck to Kobra’s side, of course--after whatever the hell that was with the scream and the panic attack, Ghoul’s not gonna leave Kobra’s side for the rest of the day. They’re both dressed in BL/ind white, too, though neither of them wear hats. Their hair is natural--or, in Kobra’s case, at least  _ a _ natural color--so they don’t have to worry about that. Still, seeing their kid brother dressed like this...it’s almost hard to believe the last six years of freedom ever  _ happened. _

Party closes their eyes, takes a steadying breath. It’s fine. It’s  _ fine. _ This isn’t forever, it’s just for a few days, while they complete their  _ mission. _ It’s fine!

A hand on their shoulder.

They turn to see Jet, peering at them from beneath the Better Living Industries logo on his hat. He leans in, presses a careful kiss to their cheek, then a second, lingering kiss to their forehead, knocking both their hats askew. “You’ll be okay,” he murmurs, lips brushing against their skin.  _ “We’ll _ be okay.”

“Yeah,” Party breathes. They pull back a bit, focus on his eyes rather than the clothes he’s wearing. “Yeah, I know, I just…” they shrug. “Bad memories, y’know?”

“I figured,” he says. “Do you wanna hold my hand? Until we get up to the streets?”

He sounds so sweet, offering Party his fucking  _ hand _ to hold, like some kind of...of...gallant fucking  _ knight _ or something, that Party can’t help but grin at him. “Hell yeah I wanna hold your hand!” they say, and interlace their fingers with his.

He grins back, leans in a bit so Party can kiss him soundly on the lips. They want to linger here, like this, but they have to get moving. Party glances down at their hands, sees red staining Jet’s fingers. “Fuck,” they say. “You’ve still got dye on your hands.”

Jet shrugs. “Nothing I can do about it,” he says. “I can’t exactly wear gloves. I’ll just have to keep my hands hidden once we’re on the streets.” He rubs his thumb along the side of their palm. “Besides, I like carrying your color with me.”

Party feels their face heat up, which is absolutely goddamn  _ unfair! _ They’re supposed to be the one making Jet blush, not the other way around! “Holy shit, you fuckin’  _ sap!” _ they say, slapping his shoulder with the back of their hand.

Jet laughs, delighted, and Party  _ knows _ their trip to Batt CIty’s gonna be successful, because they’re gonna spend the next fifty years of their life making Jet laugh like that and there’s not a damn thing BL/ind can do about it!

In the meantime, everyone else has finished dressing, and it’s time to get moving. They squeeze Jet’s hand again, and then they’re filing out the door behind the city rebels.

This tunnel is just the same as the one they’d used from the junkyard, but with the addition of more twists and turns, and other tunnels branching off in different directions. The city rebels have no problem navigating it, but Party has a feeling that if they tried to figure it out alone, they’d be lost for the rest of their short life.

There are two figures standing up ahead, just off to the side and in the mouth of another tunnel. One’s tall, almost as tall as Monster Alarm--which is a fuckin’ feat, honestly, Party’s still not sure how she managed to get a gang together of almost nothin’ but giants--and built like a fuckin’ brick wall, but the other is much smaller, and looks like they’re probably actually a kid.

“Sideshow,” Limelight whispers as they approach the figures. The tall one nods to her, turns to look them all over, and Party can just make out what looks like a burn scar taking up half their face.

Limelight turns to Hen, then to Party. “Okay,” they say quietly, “half of you are going with Sideshow and Hen, and the other half will go with Red and the girl, here.” They nod to the much smaller figure next to Sideshow, and, yep. That’s a kid.

Is this kid an actual member of the rebellion? She looks like she’s eight,  _ maybe _ nine. Maybe she’s the daughter of some other rebel? 

Actually, why the fuck are they thinking about this? They’ve got more important shit to worry about.

They scoot closer to Monster. “I’ll take my gang with Red, you guys go with Hen. Sound okay?”

She nods. “Sure thing, Poison. Let’s get movin’.”

They nod back, push forward to grab Kobra’s shoulder with their free hand. “Lead the way, Red,” they say.

Limelight waves them all off. “See ya when you’re ready to break out again,” they say, and then they’re gone, slipping down another tunnel and out of sight.

Party pulls Jet with them as they move to follow Red and the girl down one of the tunnels, but Jet holds firm, stopping Party in their tracks. “Keep your radio with you,” they hear him whisper to Strawberry. “But keep it off ‘til we’re at the safehouse. BL/ind can pick up the transmissions and use them to track you.”

Strawberry huffs. “Got it,” they say, annoyance clear in their tone. “Worry about your own crew, I got mine handled.”

“Right.” Jet turns back to Party, squeezes their hand, and follows them again.

This tunnel is narrower than the previous, and darker. They have to walk single-file, and Party keeps their hand tight around Jet’s. 

No one talks. The only sounds are their footsteps, the sound of their breathing, and the faint, ever-present hum of something electronic.

The floor starts to slope up after a few minutes, and in front of them, Party can see Kobra start to lag. Fuck, he must not be fully recovered yet. How long until they’re out of here? How long until they can get Kobra a place to rest?

_ ‘I’m fine,’ _ Kobra thinks to them. He sends a note of irritation with the thought, clearly displeased with Party’s concern. Whatever, Party has the right to be concerned about their brother if they wanna be!

_ ‘Just don’t collapse again,’  _ Party sends back, half-teasing.  _ ‘I’m holdin’ Jet’s hand and if he has to carry you again I’ll have to let go!’ _

__ _ ‘Oh, gee. Sorry to get in the way of your love life.’ _ Kobra’s almost  _ scathing! _ Which is absolutely goddamn  _ rude. _

__ _ ‘Yeah, you  _ better _ be sorry! Jet’s real good at hand-holdin’. He’s got these big hands that fit  _ perfectly _ with my hands. And, I mean, he’s just good with his hands in general, like--’ _

__ _ ‘Oh my god. Party. Shut the fuck up.’ _

__ _ ‘I’m not even talkin’! I’m just thinkin’!’ _

__ _ ‘Yeah, well, stop doin’ that. I don’t need to know what Jet Star does to your--’ _

__ _ ‘Speakin’ of dicks, how’s your boyfriend doin’?’ _

_ ‘Holy shit.’ _ Kobra seems impressed. Party allows themself a little smirk at that.  _ ‘Yeah, I’m impressed alright. Impressed by how goddamn stupid you are.’ _

_ ‘Fuck you!’ _

__ _ ‘Fuck  _ you.’ Kobra pauses.  _ ‘Anyway, Ghoul is...okay. I guess. Overwhelmed and pretty shaken up. Think he needs time to get used to the fact that he actually has parents.’ _

__ _ ‘Yeah, can’t blame him there.’  _ Party and Kobra had never been particularly close with their parents, so leaving them behind hadn’t been too big of a deal for them. But Ghoul...well, it’s just easy to see why he’d be kinda freaked by this.

_ ‘Almost up to street level,’ _ Kobra sends a moment later.

Party squeezes Jet’s hand. This is it. 

Jet squeezes back, rubs his thumb along the side of Party’s hand. They glance up at him, and he smiles back at them. Quiet and reassuring. 

Fuck, Party loves this guy.

Up ahead, Red Rooster comes to a stop. Just beyond him is a metal door built into a brick wall. This is it.

“Okay,” Red Rooster says. His speaks in a whisper, but it’s not difficult to pick up his words. “Everyone, make sure your clothes are in place. Try not to stand out. ...Fun Ghoul…” he pauses, probably waiting for a response, but Ghoul doesn’t give one. After a moment, he continues, “Just...be careful.” He clears his throat. “Don’t use your code names on the surface. Try not to use names at all, but if you do, use a fake one, alright?”

“Got it,” Party says. It’s all solid advice, but most of them were in Battery City recently enough that they know what to do. The only exception here is Ghoul, but with Kobra here they don’t have to worry about him messing up. Too badly.

Beside him, the girl grins. “Let’s get movin’,” she says. She reaches up, grabs the door handle, and pulls it open. This is it.

Party has to squint against the bright light flooding the dark tunnel. Fuck, does this door open right onto the street? What the hell? How could BL/ind ignore  _ that? _

But as they step out, carefully and with more than a fair bit of anxiety, they see that it’s not the filtered sunlight of Battery City they’re emerging into, but instead a small room, painted white to reflect the single bright light hanging from the ceiling. Shelves are pressed against the walls, like in the warehouse room they’d just left, but these are much sturdier, and filled with what looks like cleaning supplies. There’s a sink in one corner, a bucket nearby with a mop sticking out of it. Everything is spotless.

They’re in a janitor’s closet.

Well, at least it’s not the street.

Red Rooster leads them through the next door, which leads to a hallway, also painted white. Party still doesn’t know  _ where _ they are, but it’s pretty clearly an office building of some kind, judging by the doors lining the hallway, and the little black plaques hanging beside each door.  _ “Janitor,” _ says the plaque beside this door.  _ “Records,”  _ declares the one across the hall.

Someone nudges them, and they glance down to see the girl, looking pointedly at their hand, clasped with Jet’s. Shit. Right. Can’t be gay in Batt City. Fuck.

They squeeze Jet’s hand one more time before dropping it.

This is it. Probably the hardest challenge of this whole goddamn mission. 

Pretending they’re an average everyday citizen who’s not hopelessly in love with the man beside them and would never  _ dream _ of using telekinesis they _ definitely _ don’t have to smash a motorcycle into a Drac or, say, break into BL/ind HQ to bust out some rebels.

No, that’s definitely not them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So was anyone expecting Ghoul's parents to show up? ;) Don't feel bad if you didn't, I only mentioned Red and Hen like two or three times before this chapter and hinted at Ghoul having a connection with them like once lmao.  
> Also the Girl is here!! :D
> 
> ART: https://beet-delinquent.tumblr.com/post/186104660101/fanart-of-that-one-scene-in-destruction-when  
> sometimes i'm a dummy and i totally forgot to post this last week! but check it out!! sweet starparty confessions and a first kiss! ;) thank you so much!! :D
> 
> I'm moving tomorrow!! Wish me luck! ;*
> 
> See you next week! ;)


	22. We're On Your Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party and Kobra reveal their powers.  
> The plans are finalized, and the first step is put in action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 29! :D
> 
> BIG thank you to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for all the love and support and beta-reading!! i love you bunches!! 💖
> 
> enjoy the chapter!!

The safe house isn’t far from the office.

Down one block, turn the corner, down a side street, turn the corner, up two blocks. Third house on the left.

Jet Star used to patrol this street. He used to march up and down this road, face stoic, shoulders back. He remembers seeing people scurrying suspiciously out of his way, ducking behind buildings and into alleyways when they saw him in his superhero uniform. He remembers turning a blind eye to them, knowing they had something to hide, helping them the only way he could: by ignoring them.

Now, he wonders how many of those people were not just ordinary civilians, doing what they had to to make their lives livable, but actual  _ rebels _ , fighting against BL/ind, stealing goods to supply the desert rebels, doing what they could to inconvenience them.

He knows he never could have joined them, not with his power, not with BL/ind keeping him locked down tight. But still, to think that there was a group so close….

It’s strange, walking down the streets of Battery City without being watched--or, without being watched by  _ people. _ He’s well aware that they’re all on camera right now, and just hopes that no one’s paying enough attention to realize who they are.

Still. It’s strange. When Jet was a BL/ind agent, everyone knew him. Some saw him as a threat, someone to evade, to escape from. Others saw him as a hero, someone keeping the criminals in Battery City in line.

Now, no one knows who he is. Between the new clothing and the hat pulled down over his eyes, no one recognizes him. No one  _ cares _ to recognize him. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, hiding the Poison Red dye staining his hands. He keeps his head down, like so many others do. No one spares him more than a cursory glance, usually not even that.

It’s strange. Not something he’s used to. It almost feels like he’s in some...alternate reality, like he’s been in the desert for some unknowable amount of time and come back to the city to find everything changed.

But it’s not the city that’s changed; it’s  _ him. _

They keep to themselves, walking in pairs to avoid drawing attention to themselves as a large group. Red Rooster goes first, taking Party with him up to the front door. It’s hard to watch Party disappear over the threshold of an unfamiliar building in the middle of the city, but he trusts Red.

Well, as much as he  _ can _ trust someone he thought for years was a model employee of Better Living Industries. He still can’t quite wrap his head around the knowledge that not only are Anna and Luca Gallo  _ rebels, _ but they’re also  _ Ghoul’s parents. _ It doesn’t make sense.

Jet goes next, a few minutes later, walking beside the girl. The Girl? Is that her name, or just what they call her? Does she  _ have _ a name? It would be pretty weird if she didn’t, wouldn’t it? He can’t exactly ask, here on the street. He’ll have to do it later.

The girl directs him down an alleyway, a different route than the one Red and Party had taken. This is fine. Expected, even, because three pairs of people going in through the front door within ten minutes of each other is more than a little suspicious.

So is three pairs of people using different routes and going in different doors of the same house within ten minutes of each other, but as long as this house  _ specifically _ isn’t being watched, it’s a lot less suspicious than anything else.

“We’re almost there, dad,” the girl says, and he blinks down at her. Dad? Sure, it’s a good ruse, in case anyone takes notice of them--their skin tones and hair colors are similar enough that it would be plausible for him to be her father--but why bring it up out of the blue, with no one around? 

She winks at him. What the hell? She’s like, eight. Were kids always this cheeky? He doesn’t remember being cheeky when  _ he _ was eight.

Then again, he wasn’t a rebel when he was eight. Wasn’t even a BL/ind agent when he was eight. He was just a  _ kid. _ There’s a big difference there.

“Right,” he says. They pass by a security camera only half-hidden in a fake bush, and,  _ oh. _ Right. Better to pretend you don’t mind the surveillance--or even approve of it--by speaking near them, rather than clamming up. This kid clearly has the locations of the surveillance on this street memorized, and timed her statement to be picked up by that one. Clever.

How could he have forgotten such an important part of surviving in the city?

The back door of the house is clean and white, just like all the other buildings around it. There’s nothing he can see marking it as any different from the ones to either side of it. Good.

The inside of the house looks just like any other Battery City home, too: open-concept; simple furnishings in neutral colors, mostly white with some gray accents; the perpetually powered-on television, playing Fact News 24/7. It’s open, the only doors no doubt leading to the bathroom and bedrooms. It reminds him of his childhood home--the thought of which brings him a mixture of nostalgia, guilt, and anger. 

He quickly pushes down these feelings and moves farther into the house behind the girl.

She leads him to the kitchen, where Red and Party are seated at the table. He grins at Party, moves to sit beside them. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know if it’s safe. This  _ is _ a safe house, so presumably it’s safe to speak openly, but maybe there are only parts of the house that are safe. 

There’s a camera in a corner of the room, a little blue light indicating that it’s on. He isn’t going to risk anything until he knows it’s safe.

“It’s safe,” Party says, reaching over to put a hand on his knee. “The cameras get fed recordings whenever there’s people in here.” They look at Red. “That’s what you said, right?”

Red Rooster nods. “You can speak freely. No one will hear or see anything except us.” He looks at the girl, who’s seated herself in the only remaining seat at the table. “Are Kobra Kid and...Fun Ghoul coming?”

The girl shrugs. “In a few minutes,” she says. She looks around, craning her neck to look at a clock on the wall. It’s a standard Better Living Industries model, digital letters with the smiling BL/ind logo just off to the left. Apparently it’s 5:15 PM already. He’d be just waking up back in the desert, or maybe still asleep, but now he’s on city time again. “If they’re not here in ten minutes,” the girl continues, turning back around to face them all again, “then they got caught.”

That’s not a happy thought. Still, Jet’s pretty confident that Kobra can avoid getting either of them caught. He puts his hand on top of Party’s on his knee, flipping theirs over so he can hold their hand properly. “So,” he says, looking at the girl. “What’s your name? Or do you just go by ‘the girl’?”

The girl shrugs one shoulder at him, not looking very interested in his choice of conversation. “Don’t have one,” she says.

He blinks. “You don’t have...a name?” He can’t help his confusion; it’s a ridiculous notion, that an 8-year-old kid could  _ not have a name. _ Even though he himself was stripped of the name his parents had given him when he was a teenager, he’d at least been given a  _ new _ name. It’s not like people went around calling him “the teenager” or “the boy.”

Well, mostly.

“Ya mean ya haven’t picked a new one yet?” Party asks, and Jet turns toward them, confused for just a moment longer before realizing what they mean.

“Oh!” he says. “Right, that makes sense.”

The girl nods. “Haven’t found the right name yet,” she says. 

Jet nods back at her. “Okay. So, do we just...call you ‘the girl’?”

“You can call me whatever you want,” she tells him, arching an eyebrow at him. “If I don’t like it, I’ll kick you in the shin. Then you’ll know not to call me that again, or you’ll get worse the next time.”

Jet’s brain takes a second to process the threat, and then he’s sputtering, because,  _ what? _ What kind of 8-year-old threatens an  _ adult _ with physical violence?!

Beside him, Party’s laughing. “Fuck, kid,” they say, shoulders shaking. “You’re the most badass rebel of us all!”

_ “Party!” _ Jet scolds, because he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to swear in front of kids.

“Fuck yeah I am,” says the girl. She leans way across the table, arm outstretched, and Party slaps their palm against hers in a high-five.

Yeah, okay, Jet’s not really sure why he wasn’t expecting something like this to happen. He rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Red Rooster.

“When will Ann--uh, Mother Hen get here with the others?” he asks. It’s still so hard to think of Anna as anything other than  _ “Agent Anna Gallo.” _

“You can call her Anna,” Red replies. “And you can call me Luca. We only use our code names down in the catacombs, or when we’re communicating with the desert rebels.”

Jet nods. This makes sense, too.

“Anna took the others by a longer route, so it will probably be another hour or so before they start to arrive,” Luca continues. “Once Kobra Kid and...Fun Ghoul are here, we’ll start to discuss your plans.”

Jet nods again, this time because he’s not sure what to say. The knowledge that Anna and Luca--old co-workers he saw at least once a week, whenever he passed by the record-keeping office they worked in--are  _ Fun Ghoul’s parents _ is just...difficult to comprehend. He hadn’t even known they had a child.

Of course, Ghoul had been...how old when he’d left the city? Four, five? Jet had never met either of them until he was fifteen or sixteen. They wouldn’t have mentioned a child in casual conversation with a co-worker after he’d been missing for a decade, would they? Especially not if he’d been successfully smuggled out of the city. That wasn’t something BL/ind would approve them discussing.

The front door opens, and Jet leans over to one side, unintentionally pressing up against Party (not that either of them mind, he’s sure) to look. 

Kobra steps inside first, holding the door open for Ghoul, who walks in behind him. Kobra looks as stoic as usual, but Jet can see how he sticks close to Ghoul, not touching him but seeming to hover near him. Ghoul, meanwhile, is wearing an equally stoic expression--something Jet’s rarely seen on him. Big grins or pissed-off scowls are more his norm.

Luca, who’d been sitting with his back to the door, half-stands when he sees who it is, palms flat on the table, torso twisted toward them. He sits back down a second later, and Jet thinks he seems nervous.

Kobra and Ghoul walk toward the table together, Kobra offering only a nod to him and Party, and neither of them saying anything.

And this is yet another thing Jet can’t quite understand: Shouldn’t Ghoul be  _ happy _ to find out he has not only  _ one _ living parent, but  _ two? _ Ghoul’s spoken to him on several occasions about how lonely his childhood was, how ill-treated he was. Shouldn’t he be glad to have his parents back?

Maybe it’s because Jet had grown up with only one parent, who’d also been taken from him too soon, that he feels this way, but...he just can’t understand how Ghoul could be  _ upset _ by the reappearance of a mother  _ and _ a father.

It feels almost ungrateful.

Kobra shoots a deadly glare at him then, and Jet quickly shuts down that line of thought. Ghoul must have his reasons for how he’s feeling. Jet likes to think he knows all three of them pretty well--well enough to consider them all family--and while Ghoul’s never really been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, he’s also not one to show outright  _ dislike _ for someone. Not without reason.

“You’re early,” the girl says, squinting suspiciously at Kobra and Ghoul. “You were supposed to wait longer than this to start moving!”

“It’s fine,” Kobra says, dismissively. “There was an opening. We took it.” He looks over to Luca. “We need to discuss our strategy. Make sure we’re all on the same page.” He looks around, seems to note the smallness of the table. “No other chairs?”

“Uh,” says Luca. He shakes himself, seeming to break himself out of some train of thought, and stands. “There are only the four,” he tells them, “but there are two armchairs in the living room. If...if you could--”

Kobra nods. “I’ll help bring them in.” He looks at Ghoul, and Jet can tell they’re having a silent conversation. Jet looks away, down at the table. He always feels like he’s intruding when he watches the two of them like that.

Party leans in close to Jet, whispers, “Is this weird for you?”

Jet turns his head too fast, feels Party’s lips brush his ear before they can pull away. “Is what weird?” he asks.

“Bein’ back in the city,” they say. They shift, propping their elbow up on the table and leaning their head into their hand. 

“Oh. Uh. Sorta?” If feeling like you’re not quite in the real world counts as  _ weird. _ If feeling like everything’s so much different than it was a month ago counts as  _ weird. _ “What about you?”

They shrug. “Feels kinda like the whole last six years was a dream or somethin’, honestly.” Party’s knee brushes against his under the table, their foot tapping quietly against the floor.

Ah.

Jet places his hand on Party’s knee, not to stop the bouncing motion, but just to let them know he’s here. “I get it,” he says. He doesn’t quite know what to say to help them calm down, doesn’t know what it is they need to hear. He tries to think about what he’d like someone to tell  _ him. _ “Just remember, you escaped from here before. You left this place  _ twice. _ You won’t have to stay here long. In and out, before BL/ind even knows we’re here.”

He doesn’t know if that really helps, but Party smiles at him a little, and their leg stops bouncing so much, so maybe it was enough.

Kobra and Luca come back in, each dragging a white armchair behind them. Kobra places his a bit away from the table, takes the other from Luca and places it beside the first. He and Ghoul sit down in them, facing the rest of them at the table.

Luca sits back down, sending a nervous glance Ghoul’s way and then looking over at the girl, who’s sitting slumped over the table, head propped on her folded arms.

Everyone’s quiet for a moment, and then Kobra sighs, loudly. “Strategy,” he says. “What’s the plan?”

Party sits up straighter in their seat, leg pressed against Jet’s. “We gotta find out where they’re holdin’ the rebels, first,” they say matter-of-factly. “Red--er, Luca? You got any info on them?”

Luca shakes his head, also sitting up straighter. “Sorry, neither I nor my wife work in holding or re-education. We’re strictly record-keeping.”

“And, what? They don’t keep records of the people they take and brainwash?” Party bites at their bottom lip, frowning.

He shakes his head again. “No, they do, but that’s a special department within re-education. We work with general records.”

“If they’re going through re-education right now,” Jet adds, lightly squeezing Party’s knee, “they’ll probably be in one of the cells like they kept you in.”

They sigh. “Yeah, Pony an’ Kiwi are prob’ly in there,” they say. “Which is good, ‘cause we gotta bust ‘em out as soon’s we can, but what about the others? The ones who’ve been here weeks already?”

“If they’ve already undergone re-education,” Luca says, “then there’s a good chance they’ve been re-introduced to the population.”

It’s Ghoul who speaks up next. “You mean they just let ‘em  _ run free?” _ he asks incredulously.

Luca looks over, catches Ghoul’s eye just briefly before Ghoul’s looking down again, scowl settled in place over his features. Jet taps out a pattern on Party’s knee, irritated. He shouldn’t  _ be _ irritated, doesn’t know why Ghoul’s acting like this, but he  _ is. _

Luca clears his throat, looks at Jet this time. “Once someone’s been re-educated, they think only BL/ind-approved thoughts for quite a long time. Even once the effects wear off--which could take as long as several months, or even  _ years- _ -many people find it difficult to break from that pattern of thought, or simply choose not to go against BL/ind, to avoid repeating the process.” 

He pauses, mouth twitching, and then shifts his gaze to his hands, clasped on the table before him. “It isn’t a pleasant process for anyone,” he continues, “but it warrants the results BL/ind’s looking for in a citizen, so yes. They allow them their freedom when it’s clear the process has worked. They’re not exactly ‘free,’ though. No one is in this city, but those who have been re-educated are watched more closely than those who haven’t.” He shrugs. “So, if your friends have already undergone the re-education process...you’ll have a tougher time getting them out without being spotted.”

It’s silent for a moment, tense, as everyone processes this. Jet’s the one to break the silence, because it’s either that or dwell on the thought of re-education, remember all the times he himself has gone through it. Think about all the things he must have done during those months he had no control. Things he really doesn’t want to consider, not ever.

“There’s a good chance most of the people we’re looking for are still being held in HQ,” he says. “And those who aren’t, we can probably find records of in the same building.” He looks around, meeting Luca’s eyes, Kobra’s, the girl’s, and then Party’s. He nods. “We don’t necessarily need to sneak  _ out _ of the city, after all. We just need to be stealthy long enough to get the information, locate everyone. We can be as flashy as we want, draw as much attention as we need to when we leave.”

Party grins at him, lifting their chin higher. “You’re right,” they say. “And luckily, bein’ sneaky’s what I’m good at.”

“And don’t I know it,” he says, feeling his lips curl into a smile. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Luca interrupts, “but how, exactly, do you plan on sneaking into BL/ind HQ? Jet Star, you’re on so many watch lists it isn’t even funny. Party Poison, you...don’t exactly look the part of an agent. Or even a citizen, not with hair like that.” He shakes his head. “You know how security is in there. You might be able to fight your way in and out, but  _ stealth?” _

Party rolls their eyes. “I know what I’m doin’, Red. You don’t think we’d come out here without a plan, didja?” They pause. “Well, okay, we prob’ly woulda, we kinda  _ did, _ but we’re not helpless!”

There’s another lull in conversation, and then Luca waves his hand in front of him, a  _ please continue _ gesture. “So? That doesn’t tell me  _ how _ you’re going to sneak in.”

“We’ll be usin’ our powers, of course,” Kobra says from his armchair.

Luca blinks at him. “Your powers are...sound-based,” he says slowly. “From what I’ve seen, they aren’t very stealthy.” He turns to Jet again, who is, surprisingly, finding himself amused. “And yours isn’t exactly, er, useful in this particular situation, either. Especially since it’s so unpredictable.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jet tells him. “I’ve been working with my power since I left. I know when to risk it and all that.” He says this with a hint of pride; after all, why  _ shouldn’t _ he be proud of this? He spent a decade horrified by his power, afraid to use it, afraid he’d trigger it by accident. And now he has a better understanding of his power, a better understanding of himself, thanks to Party and the supervillains who’ve become his family. “Anyway,” he continues, realizing his thoughts have gone on a completely unrelated tangent, “those aren’t the powers Kobra’s talking about.”

Luca sighs, closes his eyes and massages his forehead. Beside him, the girl snickers. “Look,” he says. “Puzzle games are all well and good, but could you please just tell me what you’re talking about so we can make proper plans?  _ What _ powers do you mean?” 

_ ‘We’re talking about this,’ _ Kobra sends out, and he must be talking to all of them, because both Luca and the girl jump, looking around wildly.

Yeah, he knows that feeling.

“What the--who--what  _ is _ this?!” Luca exclaims. “Telepathy?” He looks around the table. “Which one of you has  _ telepathy?” _ He locks eyes with Party. “You? Do  _ you _ have a power?”

“I mean, yeah, I  _ do, _ but it sure as hell ain’t  _ telepathy,” _ Party says. “Nah, that’s my brother over there.” They incline their head toward Kobra, who raises one hand and wiggles his fingers at Luca.

“Holy shit!” the girl says, jumping up to stand on her chair. “You’ve got  _ two _ powers?”

“Yeah,” Kobra says. “Sound manipulation and telepathy. They come in handy.”

“Holy shit!” the girl exclaims again, and she’s about to say something else when there’s the sound of a door opening.

Jet stiffens, his hand still on Party’s knee. He knows it’s most likely just Anna and the others, but still. They’re in enemy territory. It could be anyone.

“Lu?” And, no, that’s definitely Anna’s voice. Jet relaxes, pats Party’s knee. 

Anna steps into the kitchen, along with Monster Alarm, who looks like a completely different person in BL/ind white, her red hair tucked into a hat and the bill pulled down over her eyes. “What’s going on in here?” Anna asks, frowning at the girl, who’s still standing on her chair.

“We’re just talkin’ strategy,” Party says. “The girl got excited by Kobra’s power, no big deal.”

Monster Alarm reaches up to pull her hat off, letting her hair spill out of it. “What, the sound thing? Yeah, pretty fuckin’ cool, huh?” She looks around the room and, seeing no available seating, shrugs and hops onto the kitchen counter, dropping the hat onto the stove beside her.

“Not the  _ sound _ thing!” the girl says, stamping one foot and causing the chair to wobble. Jet reaches out with one hand and grabs onto the back of the chair, steadying it. “The tel--tele--the  _ brain _ thing!”

“The what?” Monster Alarm sends a skeptical look at the girl. 

Kobra sighs.  _ ‘This,’  _ he says.  _ ‘I’m telepathic. Surprise.’ _

Monster Alarm blinks at him. Raises an eyebrow. “Huh,” she says. “That’s kinda fucked up.”

_ ‘If you guys wanna get all shouty or whatever about this, do it now,’ _ Kobra thinks. He’s holding Ghoul’s hand, Jet notices.  _ ‘Trust me, it’s not even the most exciting thing.’ _

“Well then what  _ is _ the most exciting thing?” Anna asks. She moves over to stand beside her husband, which also puts her closer to Ghoul. “After all, mind-reading alone can’t get you into where they’re holding the others.”

_ ‘Party,’ _ Kobra thinks,  _ ‘Ya wanna tell ‘em? Show ‘em? What the fuck ever?’ _

“Okay, yeah,” Party says. Jet watches them, curious to see how they’ll do this, and which power they’ll reveal first. He shifts his hand from their knee, instead wrapping his arm around their waist. Just in case they fall over.

Party winks at him. “Don’t worry, babe,” they say. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. That one’s kinda hard to show off, anyway, because most people don’t consider faintin’ a  _ power, _ y’know?”

Jet snorts. 

Party lifts their hand and flexes their fingers. The cupboard doors around the room open and close simultaneously. They flex again, and this time a box of BL/ind-brand cereal flies out of a cupboard toward them and lands on the table. A third time; the box opens, and Party sticks their hand into it, grabs out a handful of cereal, and shoves it in their mouth. 

“Mm,” they say, chewing, “Haven’t had this shit in  _ years, _ oh my god! ...It’s not as good as I remember….”

“How did you  _ do _ that?!” the girl shouts, climbing onto the table and crawling across it to sit in front of Party. 

“Telekinesis,” they tell her. They tilt the box toward her, and she grabs a handful of cereal for herself. “I can move stuff with my  _ brain. _ Pretty goddamn neat, huh kid?”

“Hell yeah!” she says, shoving half the handful into her mouth. Through her mouthful, she adds, “Wish  _ I _ had a power like that!” 

“Wait wait wait,” Monster Alarm says, squinting at Party. “You mean to tell me that you can  _ move shit _ with your  _ goddamn mind?” _

“Uh,” they reply. “Yeah?”

“So you mean to tell me the reason ya always beat me at pool was ‘cause you were  _ cheatin’?!” _ Monster Alarm looks righteously angry, and Jet unconsciously tightens his grip on Party’s waist.

“Uh,” Party says again, “actually, I never used it against ya.”

“Yeah fuckin’ right. C’mon, Poison, how many carbons did ya win off me by usin’ your  _ power?!” _

“None! I  _ did _ abso-fuckin’-lutely use my power to cheat at pool, okay, I admit that,” they say, speaking quickly, “but I never used ‘em against  _ you!” _

“Then how come ya always won?!”

“You’re just really goddamn bad at pool, Monster, I dunno what else to tell ya, honestly.”

Jet bites back a laugh, because Monster Alarm looks mad enough to chew glass, and he  _ really _ doesn’t wanna get on her bad side, but also it’s just  _ funny. _ And maybe he shouldn’t find something like this funny when they’re in the middle of a life-or-death situation, but he’s tired of being scared, and he’s here with Party and with Kobra and with Ghoul, and they’re going to make it back out of the city with everyone else.

So, yeah. He’s gonna let himself see humor in situations like these.

“Don’t  _ test _ me, Poison!” she says, and though her tone is full of venom, her expression is more of a pout than anything else. 

Now Jet can’t help but laugh, and he tries to bury his face in Party’s shoulder to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t help much. “Sorry, sorry!” he says, sitting upright again. “It’s just--everything that’s going on, and Party’s being accused of  _ cheating _ at  _ pool.” _

“Ya gotta back me up here, babe!” Party says, twisting to put their hands on his thigh. “Tell her I didn’t do it! Tell her she just sucks at pool!”

“Party, I’ve seen you play pool exactly  _ one time, _ I don’t know what you do or don’t do!”

“I  _ don’t _ suck at pool!” Monster Alarm pouts at them both again. “Kiwi says I’m a  _ master!” _

“Yeah, ‘cause you didn’t believe him when he said you were  _ bad _ at it!”

“Well, fuck you, I’m the best pool player in the desert, and once we break Kiwi and the others outta here, we’ll play for  _ real, _ no powers, no  _ nothin’, _ and I’ll beat your ass so hard you’ll never be able to even  _ look _ at an eight-ball without cryin’!”

Luca tries to interrupt, “Speaking of breaking the others--”

“What’s pool?” the girl pipes up, still seated in the center of the table. “Can I play? I wanna beat someone’s ass at pool!”

“Hell yeah you can play!” Party tells her. “I’ll even teach ya! Don’t listen to Monster, she can’t even tell which end of the cue’s which.”

“Holy  _ fuck, _ that was  _ one _ time, and I just got overexcited!”   
Luca tries again. “I think we should really go back to discussing--”

“It was twice, and the only reason it wasn’t three times is ‘cause your cupie spun it around real fast when you weren’t lookin’.”

“Oh my god,  _ fuck _ you!”

“No thanks,” Party says with a wink, grabbing Jet’s hand in theirs and lifting it up to show off, “that’s what I’ve got Jet here for.”

Jet’s face heats up, and he hides it behind his one free hand, and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to hear Party casually mention their sex life  _ while there are other people around _ without feeling utterly  _ mortified! _

Monster Alarm seems to feel similarly, because he hears her make a loud gagging noise. “As if I’d ever  _ think about _ fuckin’  _ you!” _

“You better not,” Party says, “‘Cause Jet might get mad.”

_ “Alright,” _ Anna says in a commanding tone, punctuating the statement with a loud clap of her hands. Everyone turns to look at her, Jet dropping his hand back into his lap as he does so. She nods, and continues. “Friendship and laughter are both key parts of the rebellion,” she says, “but right now we need to  _ focus. _ How the hell are you using mind-reading and telekinesis to break the rebels out?”

Right. Fuck. They haven’t actually explained anything yet. Jet sighs. 

“Shit,” says Party. “Okay! So I actually have two powers, like my bro. Telekinesis and astral projection.”

“Ass-what projection?” the girl asks, and Jet’s still pretty sure that kids shouldn’t swear, but he has to allow himself a snicker at that, because it’s exactly what Party had said when Jet told them the name of their power.

“Astral projection!” Party repeats. “My soul or spirit or brain or whatever can leave my body and travel, like, wherever I want. It’s fuckin’ cool, trust me.”

“Oh,” says Luca. “That...now,  _ that _ sounds like it’ll help you get the information you need.”

“And mine doesn’t?” Kobra mutters. No one responds to him.

“Yeah, it’s fuckin’  _ great. _ Also, I’m basically immune to brainwashin’, ‘cause they can’t make my brain do anythin’ if it’s not  _ there, _ y’know?”

Kobra snorts. “Too easy,” he mutters, and Ghoul snickers in response. 

Party either doesn’t hear them or chooses not to reply, because they don’t react. “The  _ best _ part is,” they continue, “BL/ind’s got no idea about it. Not my astral projection, not Kobra’s telepathy. Even Ghoul’s got a couple tricks up his sleeve!”

Luca and Anna both glance over at Ghoul then. Ghoul glares at both of them, pointedly looks away. Jet carefully ignores them all.

The back door opens again, and a moment later, Wild Strawberry and Coastal Cooler appear in the kitchen.

Monster Alarm hops off the counter and moves over to them, immediately putting Wild Strawberry in a headlock. “Hey, ya made it!” she says gleefully. “Fruitsy on her way?” Wild Strawberry struggles to get out of her grip, but she doesn’t seem at all affected by it. 

Coastal Cooler nods. “Totally. Sideshow’s waitin’ with her.” He looks around the room. “Everyone else here?”

Jet waves to him. “We’re here.” He looks at Party again. “Maybe we should wait ‘til the other two are here before we continue--” he waves one hand through the air to sort of gesture at  _ all this, _ “--this conversation.” It doesn’t really make sense to repeat the whole  _ powers _ explanation more than they already have, at any rate.

Once Fruit Punch and Sideshow arrive, they can really get to planning.

 

\----------

 

Ghoul hates it here. He hates it in this city, hates it in this  _ house, _ hates everything about it.  _ Oh yeah, let’s go to Battery City, _ he’d said.  _ We’ll kick ass and get everyone back, it’ll be great. _

Yeah fuckin’  _ right. _ Not that he doesn’t think they’ll complete their goal, it’s just that every second he spends here, he feels like his skin is crawling. He feels like he needs to run, or jump, or  _ scream _ (and he can’t do that, absolutely  _ cannot _ allow himself to do that again).

The streets had been...well, not  _ full _ of people, but there were still far more on the streets than he’s even used to seeing at the bar, or at Tommy Chow Mein’s. More people walking around here than in their entire stronghold.

And the way they walked...the way they acted...it was almost  _ scary. _ Walking one by one or two by two down the street, staring straight ahead, maybe glancing at Ghoul as they passed him. Their faces looked  _ blank, _ a smile in place that didn’t look like a  _ real  _ smile (and it wasn’t like Kobra. Kobra might not show his feelings on his face much, might not smile widely, but he isn’t  _ blank) _ , and if their faces weren’t blank, they just looked nervous. 

Scared.

It was fuckin’  _ creepy _ and, somehow, not what he’d been expecting.

And then there’s the house they’re currently crammed into. No matter how open the building is (and it’s definitely open. It’s like these people have something against walls and doors), twelve people in a building built for four, a building so completely different from his home--from  _ anywhere _ he’s ever lived in his life (unless you count the first 5 years of his life, which he’s stubbornly not going to think about right now) just doesn’t work. White walls, white floors, white furniture. Why is everything so  _ white? _

He’s surrounded by white, white above, white below, white all around. Even the  _ people _ in the room are covered in white, even  _ he _ is covered in white! White, the color of BL/ind, the color of Dracs, the color of exterminators, of superheroes. He feels like he needs to fight, needs to  _ scream _ (and he can’t do that, absolutely  _ cannot _ allow that to happen again), needs to get rid of the white to protect his home, but his home is miles from here, and there’s no one to fight.

The skin tones and hair colors of the people around him are the only things that  _ aren’t _ white, so he tries to focus on them. Party’s red hair. Coast’s dark skin. Fruitsy’s hair, pink and green. Kobra’s hand, tanned by the sun, black nail polish almost completely chipped off, just little bits of it stuck here and there. It’s fine. It’s  _ fine. _ He can ignore the BL/ind white- _ -he’s never seen so much in one place, never felt so  _ stifled _ by it before- _ -and focus on Kobra’s hand. 

Ghoul reaches over and picks Kobra’s hand up out of his lap and pulls it toward him, settling it palm-up on his own leg. He can see Kobra tilt his head at him out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t look up at him, because right now he just needs to focus on this one thing. 

Carefully, he traces his fingers over the lines on Kobra’s palm, the head line, the heart line, the life line. He doesn’t know anything about reading palms, but he knows the names of the major lines. There’s dirt in the little crevices of his skin, dust and dirt from the desert, or maybe just from the warehouse.

There’s a little scar on Kobra’s thumb, from when he’d grabbed a cactus once and gotten a half-inch of spine driven through the skin. Ghoul rubs his thumb over it, feeling the raised skin, and then moves on to his fingers.

Kobra’s fingers are rough, covered in calluses. Ghoul rubs his palm over them, then intertwines their fingers. Squeezes Kobra’s hand. 

Kobra squeezes back, and when he looks up, Kobra’s smiling at him.  _ ‘Better?’ _ he silently asks, and Ghoul nods back.

“I’ll take you all to the basement,” Mother Hen--Anna- _ -whoever _ she is, and that’s all Ghoul’s going to think about her--says, and Ghoul frowns.  _ ‘Basement?’ _ he sends to Kobra.

_ ‘There’s a secret basement BL/ind doesn’t know about,’ _ Kobra thinks back.  _ ‘It’s fitted out for a bunch of people to stay in, so we can sleep there.’ _

_ ‘Okay, but it’s not night yet.’ _ He’s pretty sure the city people don’t operate on desert time. They wouldn’t be going to sleep for a few more hours, right?

_ ‘Party’s gonna scope out BL/ind HQ, so they need to lay down, and Red, Hen, and Sideshow need to get home before curfew.’ _

Oh. That makes sense, then. He nods, and when Kobra stands up, he does too, keeping his grip on Kobra’s hand and following everyone else out of the kitchen and into the living area. Sideshow shoves the sofa forward, toward the TV (and Ghoul’s never seen a working TV before, not that he can remember, and he can’t help but be kind of fascinated by the images onscreen, even though he can’t hear what the person seated behind the desk is saying), and the girl crouches down on the floor and peels up a section of carpet, revealing a metal door built into the concrete floor.

The girl straightens back up, and Sideshow bends over to heft the door up. Ghoul pushes closer, standing on his tiptoes to see around Strawberry, and he can see stairs leading down into darkness. 

Hen- _ -Anna- _ -pulls a tiny flashlight out of her pocket and shines it down onto the stairs. “Sorry it’s dark. And steep,” she says, “But there’s no surveillance whatsoever down here, and plenty of space.” And then she steps down into the darkness, quickly disappearing from view.

The girl follows her down easily enough. “C’mon,” she calls, only her head and shoulders visible above the floor now. 

Next is Jet, followed by Party, and then Monster’s gang, one by one. Ghoul, his hand still in Kobra’s, goes down next, pushing past Red- _ -Luca- _ -and heading down the stairs.

The stairs are metal, and rattle dangerously with every step. There’s enough light from the room above, and enough from the room below, that he can make out each step, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about slipping and tumbling all the way down and smashing his head open, or something.

Kobra’s hand tightens on his.

At the bottom of the stairs is another room with several doors along the walls, a table with two chairs pushed against the far wall, and a bookshelf beside that. Bare lightbulbs hang from the ceiling, illuminating the space.

“Six beds,” Anna calls, gesturing to the doors, “so some of you will have to share. Sorry about that.”

“Uh, yeah, not gonna be a problem for me,” Party says, and does that stupid thing where they hold up their and Jet’s hand again. Ghoul rolls his eyes.

“Right, I didn’t think it would be much of a problem,” Anna says, and she smirks. There’s a glimmer in her eyes as she does, a spark of something, and something in Ghoul’s gut tightens. No. No he isn’t going to smile at her. She  _ abandoned _ him.

Kobra lets go of his hand and wraps his arm around his shoulders instead. He doesn’t think anything to Ghoul, no words, but he sends a thread of comfort to him. Normally Ghoul would be grateful for it, but now...it just kinda pisses him off. He doesn’t need comfort, not for this.

Kobra’s arm doesn’t move from his shoulder. Ghoul pretends he doesn’t feel better with it there.

“Bathroom’s on the left,” Anna continues. “Use as much water as you like. Across from that, to the right, is a supply room. Food, soap, bandages, clothes, all that. Don’t take anything from upstairs unless you’ve got to, because we have to make sure everything’s placed back exactly where it needs to be so BL/ind doesn’t notice the difference when the recordings stop playing.” She points to each door in turn, moving further into the room as she talks. “Two bedrooms, right across from each other. And--”

“Ooh, ooh!” The girl pushes past Coast and Fruitsy to the front of the crowd, wavin an arm in the air. “Can I show ‘em the secret entrance? I wanna show ‘em!”

Anna laughs, and reaches out to ruffle the girl’s curly hair, and that feeling in Ghoul’s gut  _ twists, _ sharp and painful.

He won’t acknowledge it.

“Go ahead,” Anna says, and the girl lets out a cheer and runs over to the bookshelf. 

“There’s a secret escape route!” she calls. “In case Draculoids or the bad kind of agents get in. Check it out!” The girl reaches up, standing on her tiptoes, and feels around along the inside of the shelf for a moment. Then there’s a  _ click, _ and the whole shelf swings forward.

Huh. There’s a tunnel behind it, it looks like. That’s pretty fuckin’ neat, actually. Ghoul has to give it to these city rebels; they’re pretty smart.

The girl goes to shift the bookcase back into place, and Anna says, “There’s a switch under the shelf second from the bottom. If BL/ind finds this place, take the tunnel and get out as quick as you can. You’ll eventually come out in the tunnel we took you through earlier.”

“Um,” Fruitsy says, “This house is, like, completely safe though, right? Like, the cameras don’t record us, and stuff?”

Anna nods. “We take every precaution to keep it safe. This house has been used by rebels for over twenty years now.” She glances down at the watch on her wrist, swears under her breath. “I’ve gotta get going,” she says. “Curfew’s soon.” She looks up again. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning to make sure everything’s alright. Have a good night.” She hurries back toward the stairs, but stops right in front of Ghoul and Kobra. He bristles.

“Good night, Fun Ghoul,” she says softly, and Ghoul doesn’t reply, and then she’s gone, back up the stairs. A few moments later, he hears the door slam back into place.

He looks up at Kobra, who leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead.  _ ‘Let’s get settled in,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘We’re all tired.’ _

_ ‘Yeah,’ _ Ghoul replies. Sleep would be good. Kobra’s probably still feeling gross from passing out earlier, and Ghoul...will probably feel a lot better if he sleeps, too.

\----------

 

It’s easy enough to divide the beds up between them all. Monster’s gang takes one room, and everyone else goes to the other one. The girl lives here, apparently; or at least she says she does when Jet asks her. 

She’s already got claim to one of the beds, evidenced by the fact that there’s a couple of stuffed animals (Better Living design, of course, so one’s a simple black cat with glimmering eyes and the other is a blue MouseKat) and what must be a handmade quilt. It’s the most color Jet’s seen since they got up to the streets, and he finds himself appreciating the riot of oranges, yellows, and blues that make up the patchwork design.

Kobra and Ghoul take the bed closest to the door, shucking off their jackets and shoes and then immediately climbing underneath the covers, so that leaves Party and Jet with the middle bed.

Jet kicks off his shoes and sets them down, along with his hat and jacket. He climbs into bed, and,  _ oh- _ -he’d somehow forgotten how  _ comfortable _ beds are, when compared to a shitty diner booth or even an old mattress on the floor. Party seems to collect pillows and blankets, has a huge pile of them at home, but these pillows are new, the blankets are  _ clean, _ and laying against them feels almost like  _ heaven. _

Beside him, Party lets out an audible moan. “Holy  _ fuck,” _ they say. “Oh my  _ god, _ how do we sneak one’a these beds outta the city and back home?” The bed shakes as Party falls across it, and Jet turns to face them, grinning. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s too big and bulky for that,” he says, keeping his voice down because he’s pretty sure the girl and maybe Ghoul are trying to sleep, “but it’ll be nice to sleep on it while we’re here.”

Party groans, rolling onto their stomach and burying their face in one of the pillows. “Why d’you gotta ruin all my hopes and dreams with your fuckin’...facts and logic, huh?”

Jet snorts, reaching over to run his fingers through their hair. “Entertainment.”

“Fuck off.”

Jet hums in response, still combing through Party’s hair. It’s soothing, a repetitive action that never seems to fail to make them both feel more relaxed. If he closes his eyes, it’s easy to pretend that he and Party are back home, easy to pretend that there’s nothing wrong, that they’re just going about their usual routine.

Party rolls over then, dislodging his hand from their hair, and his fingers skate across their cheeks, their lips. They sit up, twisting at the waist to face him. After a moment, they lean over him, bracing themself on one hand pressed into the bed beside Jet’s shoulder.

He smiles up at them, barely visible in the dark of the room. “Can I help you?” he asks, just to be cheeky.   
He can just see them roll their eyes at him. “Dumbass,” they say fondly, and then they lean down toward him.

Jet leans up to meet them halfway, catching their lips with his own. They keep it short and sweet, because they aren’t exactly alone, but it’s still nice. He likes kissing Party. Likes  _ being _ with Party.  It doesn’t matter where they are, or who they’re with. Any time spent with Party, doing  _ anything, _ is more than enough for Jet.

Party pulls away first, straightening up, and then they’re laying down again, shifting and maneuvering themself until they’re pressed up against his side, their arms wrapped around his waist and their face pressed against his stomach.They sigh, a content sound, and Jet feels a warm sense of  _ happiness _ spark through him.

“Comfy?” he asks, his hand automatically moving into their hair again.

Party hums, nuzzling into his belly. “Very,” they say, voice quiet and breathy. They pause. Then, “You’ll take care of me while I’m gone?”

“Of course,” Jet says. Party’s hair is softer than usual, since they just washed it yesterday. It’s nice. Feels good against his fingers. He wishes it were light enough for him to see the color of it, to see  _ Party, _ but this is definitely nice, too. 

“Okay,” they say. They shift again, pressing their mouth against the shirt covering his belly. “Love you,” they say, and then they go limp.

“Love you, too,” he says to the air, knowing that they’ll hear him. His fingers continue their rhythmic caress, and he lets his eyes fall closed. 

He won’t go to sleep until they’re back. He’ll lay here and enjoy the luxury of a soft, clean bed with his datemate by his side, and wait for them to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i love monster alarm.................wife.............................
> 
> you may have noticed that instead of "/?" the number of chapters is now listed as 26! that's because i finished writing the final chapter this week and have only the epilogue left to write, so i finally know exactly how many chapters there will be! :0c
> 
> thanks for reading!! if you enjoyed this chapter, feel free to leave kudos or a comment below! i'd love to hear your thoughts!! <3
> 
> ALSO!! next sunday there will NOT be an update! it's my zucchini's birthday and i've been working on a one-shot for them, so i'll be posting that as my weekly fic instead (assuming i manage to finish it on time)!  
> After that, the schedule should resume uninterrupted until completion! :D


	23. Make a Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party uncovers a terrible secret.  
> Ghoul has a conversation with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 31! 🌟
> 
> Thank you all so much for bearing with me as I skipped last week! The schedule will continue as normal from here, posting one chapter each week until completion! 
> 
> EXTREMELY large thank you to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading, and for giving me SO. MANY. ideas!! 💖
> 
> We've got some ART this week, by remedyreject on tumblr!! Check the end notes for a link!!
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: brainwashing, child abuse/neglect, sleep depravation/torture.  
> Please note that while I don't go into graphic detail of any of these subjects, they aren't just glossed over, either. If you need a more detailed warning, feel free to message me on tumblr (enby-partypoison) or leave a comment here or on a previous chapter.

Battery City is bright even at night, so much brighter than the desert is (unless you count exceptions like Show Pony’s parties). Lights shine from the windows of houses and apartments below, and from the lamps lining the streets. The taller buildings, Better Living offices and shops, are mostly dark, save for the lights placed at the tops of them, and around their entrances, but a few of these buildings still have lights on.

    Party twists in midair to look up at the sky. They can barely see the stars here. Even the moon looks paler.

    When they get back home, they’re taking Jet out on a moonlit picnic to look at the stars. Now _that’s_ a good date. 

    They turn over again to look down on the city. They’re pretty sure BL/ind is holding the rebels in their headquarters, the same place they held Party in, and since they know the way in, and know where the re-education rooms are--or, at least, where some of them are--it shouldn’t take too long to locate at least _some_ of them.

    They push themself forward, toward the big domed building in the center of the city. It isn’t the tallest building around, but it’s certainly the most striking, the most... _ominous,_ they suppose is a good word.

    There are still a few lights on inside, visible through the windows, but mostly the building is dark, like the others. Party moves through the wall and finds themself in an area of the building they haven’t seen before. Not unexpected, because even though they’d explored the building a bit while they’d been stuck here before, they’d mostly been focused on _finding a way out,_ not on checking out every available room.

    Still, it’s easy enough to get to Block C-3 from here. They just fly through the walls in the general direction, and when they find a hallway they recognize, they follow it.

    Six doors, six rooms, potentially six people being _brainwashed_ right now. It’s enough to turn their stomach--if they had one at the moment.

    The go into the first room they come to.

    There’s an old man strapped to the chair, his gaze focused on the flickering screen in front of him. Party doesn’t recognize him, and though they ache to help him, there’s nothing they can do right now. They go into the next room.

    Another person they don’t recognize, but this one’s a kid, and clearly a rebel. Blue hair, long and greasy, and a stained shirt that might have been pink at one time. Whoever this is, they’re not from Party’s stronghold. 

    _‘I’ll be back for you,’_ Party promises, though they know they won’t hear it, knows only Kobra can hear them now. But Party means it; once they’ve located everyone else they’re looking for, they’ll bust this kid out, too.

    Party forces themself to check the next room.

    The other four all hold other people Party doesn’t recognize, and now they’re stumped. If Pony and Kiwi and the others aren’t here, then where _are_ they?

    _‘Jet says there’s another group of four rooms in that same block,’_ Kobra thinks to them after a few moments. _‘They’re on the other side of the stairs you and Jet went up before.’_

_‘Thanks,’_ Party thinks back.They turn their spirit and push forward, zipping through walls.

    _‘If they’re not there,_ ’ Kobra continues, _‘There’s another re-education unit in Block A-7. Jet says he’ll give you directions when you need them.’_

    _‘Got it.’_  

    The next four rooms aren’t difficult to find, either. This hallway looks just like the previous, just with fewer doors.

    The first room is unoccupied. The second is, as well.

    The third room is occupied by a citizen in BL/ind white, but in the fourth room, Party lucks out.

    Show Pony sits in the center of the room, strapped to the chair. Their eyes are glued to the screen in front of them, but the images onscreen move at a less frantic pace than Party’s seen played for those nearly finished with their brainwashing, which means there’s probably a good chance Pony’s still okay. They’ve still got all their desert gear on, their crop top (with their binder underneath--fuck, have they been wearing that since they got taken? Their fuckin’ _ribcage_ has gotta be strangled, _fuck)_ in place, and, Party notices, even their skates. That’s good; Pony’d probably _kill_ someone for taking their skates.

    _‘Kobra,’_ they think, but Kobra interrupts them.

    _‘You’ve got Pony,’_ he sends. _‘I’m gonna try and talk to them. Keep an eye out for anything or anyone weird, okay?’_

    _‘Got it,’_ they reply. 

    Show Pony tenses up suddenly, blinking rapidly, and then they squeeze their eyes shut and shake their head from side to side. If Party looks closely, they can see bruises on Pony’s arms, where the chair’s straps must have dug into their skin as they tried to fight their way out.

    Through the ever-present concern, Party also feels a rush of pride. Pony’s always been feisty; Party _knew_ they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

    “Hallucination,” Pony mutters, straining at their bindings. Oh, yeah. Kobra has no way of proving to Pony that he’s real. Especially since Pony had no idea, until now, that Kobra can do more than manipulate sound. Oops.

    Well, at least they’re no longer watching the screen. Disrupting the process is better than nothing.

    Party slips their head through the door and looks around, but there’s no one nearby--no one they can see in the dark, anyway, no footsteps approaching. They don’t know if there’s someone who has to watch all the re-education rooms at night, or _ever,_ or if they just get recorded and viewed when necessary, but if there’s anyone keeping an eye on Show Pony, they might come by at some point just to see what’s making them act up.

    _‘Can you tell ‘em I’m here?’_ Party thinks to Kobra, pulling themself back into the room and over to Pony. _‘Or would that just make ‘em go crazier?’_

    _‘Don’t think it’ll help much,’_ Kobra sends back. _‘They won’t believe that I’m actually talkin’ to ‘em, and I can’t prove I’m_ not _a hallucination. Think we’re just gonna have to wait ‘til we come break ‘em out to get ‘em to believe us.’_ Party can’t physically _hear_ Kobra, of course, but they get the distinct impression that he’s sighing. _‘Gotta move on, Party, see if you can find anyone else in the other block.’_

    _‘You want me to just leave ‘em here? To be_ re-educated?’ Party sends back. That really doesn’t sit well with them. Already, Pony’s eyes are trained on the screen again.

    _‘Can’t do anything else for now, Party. At least we know where they are.’_

_‘I guess.’_ Reluctantly, they leave the room, emerging back out into the hallway. There’s a little screen next to the door, a soft blue light emanating from it. In stark black letters, they can read _“Re-education C-3-9. Subject:”_ and then a name Party can only assume is Show Pony’s city name, the one they left behind when they made their way out to the desert. 

    Party promptly scrubs the name from their mind and turns away. At least they know what room Pony’s in, so when they come to bust everyone out they won’t waste time trying to direct everyone.

    _‘Okay,’_ they think to Kobra, _‘You said A-7, right? How do I get there?’_

 

\----------

 

    It’s easy enough to pass information between Jet and Party, snuggled up under the blankets with Ghoul tucked securely in his arms. What isn’t easy is dealing with Party’s rising agitation as they move through the building, Jet’s quiet worry over being caught himself, the almost palpable anxiety from the four rebels in the room across from theirs, the fluctuating feelings of confusion and anger emanating from Ghoul, or his _own_ hectic thoughts.

    The only person who’s _not_ making his life harder is the girl, in her bed across the room, and that’s just because she’s fucking sleeping. Kobra will forever be glad he can’t pick up on people’s _dreams_ or whatever.

    _‘Okay,’_ he thinks to Party, _‘Jet says it’s just down the next hallway and to the right. There’s six re-education rooms there. Do you see them?’_

    _‘Got ‘em,’_ Party thinks back a moment later. _‘Gonna scope ‘em out.’_

_‘Good luck.’_  

    With Party sorted out for the moment, Kobra turns his attention to Ghoul. _‘How are you feelin’?’_ he thinks to him.

    _‘Tired,’_ Ghoul replies. He shifts in the bed, laying his head against Kobra’s chest. _‘You?’_

_‘Still tired, yeah.’_ It would have been nice if Kobra could have had a little time to sleep before they did this, but it’s not like he doesn’t understand their need for speed. The sooner they can get out of this city, the better. He’ll just sleep when Party’s done.

    _‘Wish I could do what you do.’_ Ghoul nuzzles into Kobra, tightening his hold on him.

    Kobra snorts. _‘No you don’t. You’d hate it. You’ve told me that before.’_

    _‘Yeah, but then_ you _wouldn’t have to do it all the time. You need a nap.’_

    And Kobra’s heart squeezes at that, because Ghoul’s so _earnest,_ and he actually really does want to help, and Kobra thinks he falls in love with Ghoul more every day. _‘I love you,’_ he thinks to Ghoul.

    _‘Yeah, yeah. Sap.’_

Kobra shifts, bending his neck to kiss the top of Ghoul’s head. _‘I’m okay. I’ll sleep when Party’s done. Shouldn’t be much longer.’_

_‘Whatever.’_ Ghoul moves again, climbing over Kobra to the other side of the bed. He pushes at Kobra’s shoulder until Kobra rolls onto his side, and then he throws an arm over Kobra’s waist, pressing his chest up against Kobra’s back, and presses a kiss to the back of Kobra’s neck. Kobra thinks he might melt. _‘Tell ‘em to hurry up. I wanna sleep.’_

_‘You can go to sleep whenever you want, Ghoul._ You’re _not the one passing information along telepathically.’_

_‘Fuck off, I’m not sleepin’ ‘til_ you _sleep. Asshole.’_

Kobra’s never been more in love.

    _‘Found Kiwi!’_ Party sends to him. 

    _‘Good,’_ Kobra sends back. He focuses, pushing past his exhaustion, and catches Kiwi Blast’s mind, sharper than so many others’ here in the city, there in the building. 

    _‘Kiwi,’_ he thinks. _‘Can you hear me?’_

    He’s met with only silence, and Kobra thinks that maybe he’s not focusing hard enough, so he tries again, pushing his consciousness to connect with Kiwi’s, forcing other minds away from him. 

    Panic floods his mind, and he fights to keep himself from pulling away from Kiwi’s mind. He can feel himself tensing up, can feel himself _shaking_ from it, but he doesn’t let it control him.

    _‘Kiwi,’_ he tries again, keeping his breathing steady. It’s not _his_ panic, he tries to reason with himself, it’s _Kiwi’s. ‘Calm down, please. It’s Kobra Kid.’_

    Kiwi’s thoughts are a jumble. He’s not slow and sleepy, like Show Pony was at first, which means he hasn’t been in re-education long enough for it to affect him. That’s good.

    However, Kobra can’t get through the jumble of panicked thoughts and genuine fear to actually _communicate_ with him. Kiwi’s fucking _terrified._

    _‘Kobes, he’s just, like, frozen here. Not even_ blinkin’. _You gettin’ through to him?’_

And Kobra has no choice but to pull back, let go of Kiwi. He feels himself slump back against Ghoul, sink into the mattress.

    “You okay?” Ghoul mutters, holding him tightly, comfortingly.

    “I’m okay,” he replies. “Kiwi--Kiwi’s not doin’ great.” 

    He closes his eyes, focusing on Party again. _‘Get his room number,’_ he sends to them. _‘Can’t get in touch with him, either.’_ He pauses. _‘Are those the only two you’ve found so far?’_

_‘From our stronghold? Yeah. A couple other rebels, too, but mostly just Batt citizens. Can you ask Jet where I need to check next?’_

_‘Jet,’_ Kobra thinks, even though Jet’s just on the next bed over, _‘Party’s finished checkin’ A-7. Where next?’_

_‘They didn’t find ‘em all?’_ Jet sends, and Kobra can feel that the thought makes him worried.

    _‘No. Just Pony and Kiwi. There’s more than them missing from just our_ own _stronghold, Jet.’_

Kobra can see what Jet’s thinking about before he thinks it directly to Kobra, and Kobra stiffens again. Fuck. So that’s--

    Jet sighs. _‘Block B-2,’_ he thinks. _‘Basement level.’_

    Kobra sends the information to Party, and tries not to think about what this means.

 

\----------

 

    Block B-2 is easy enough to find. Party just has to turn a couple of corners and then take a hallway that goes straight there. After that, the basement is easy enough to find, too; they just dive straight down through the floor.

    _‘I’m in the basement,’_ they send to Kobra. It’s dark down here, just as dark as most of the rooms up above. They don’t hear anything, though, beyond the quiet hum of electronics. It’s quieter down here. 

_‘Jet says there’s a door on the north side.’_

    Which way’s fuckin’ _north_ down here? Fuck. _‘Not helpful.’_

    A pause. _‘He says it’s near the elevator. D’you see that? Should have a blue light on the keypad next to it.’_

    Party can’t see any lights from where they are. The push themself around in a circle, passing through walls and furniture and machines as they move in an ever-widening spiral. And then they see it: A single shining blue dot. 

    They halt their movements and fly toward it, and, yes. Elevator. _‘Okay. At the elevator. Left or right?’_

_‘Left.’_

They go left, and as soon as they see the door, they pass through it. They’re in another hallway, a wider one, or maybe a narrow room. It’s hard to tell, but there’s a little light in here, from the little blue screens lit up on the walls, next to what looks like four more doors.

    _‘Now what?’_

_‘Four doors. Each is a holding cell. Check ‘em out.’_

    There’s something foreboding about Kobra’s thoughts, something he’s not sharing with Party. _‘Holding cells?’_ they ask, pushing themself toward the first door. _‘What for?’_

    _‘Just check ‘em out. If there’s no one there, there’s no need to worry ‘bout what they’re for.’_

_‘That_ really _doesn’t make me feel any better, Kobes.’_ Regardless, they pass through the door to look around the room.

    The first thing they notice is that it’s _bright_ in here, artificial light reflecting off the white walls and floor that make up the room.

The second thing they notice are the people. Maybe a dozen, most sleeping on the floor, some sitting awake against the wall. The sleepers look to have nothing more than a single thin blanket--sometimes two, probably borrowed from the couple of people sitting awake in the room--between them and the floor, which, if it’s the same kind of floor as the rest of the building has, _can’t_ be comfortable.

The sleepers have corners of their blankets pulled over their faces, or their arms thrown over their eyes--attempting to block out the light, no doubt, but Party knows from experience, sleeping through the daytime in the desert, that thin white blankets do absolutely fucking _nothing_ against light, and arms slip away or ache when you move them, anyway.

Why are the fucking _lights on_ at _night_ when they’re trying to _sleep?_

And that’s when Party notices a third thing: they recognize one of the people sitting against the wall, recognize _Sham Pain_ of all people, and--oh god, that’s why xe hasn’t been drinkin’ all the booze at Pony’s parties lately, because xe got fuckin’ _abducted_ holy _shit--_ all the people in here are rebels.

It’s easy enough to tell a rebel from a citizen: even if the clothes don’t give it away, or the hair color or style, there’s the sun-kissed skin, the calluses and scars, the way they hold themselves, the hard edge that those who live in Battery City just don’t _have._

    And everyone in this room is a rebel.

    _‘Kobra, what the fuck is this?’_ they think. Because this clearly isn’t re-education. It’s some kind of...torture chamber? Kobra called this a holding cell. Shouldn’t a holding cell still have fucking _beds_ and not be _lit the fuck up in the middle of the night?_  

    They get the sense that Kobra would sigh if they could actually hear him. _‘Preparation for Draculoidization,’_ he tells them, and if they were still in their body, they know they’d be frozen in shock, tensing up, but as it is they can only send their feelings to their brother.

    _‘What the hell do you mean, Draculoidization?!’_ they send back, throwing every ounce of shock and horror back to him. _‘There’s no fucking_ way _any of these guys would volunteer for that shit, Kobes, tell Jet his info’s wrong or whatever the fuck.’_ Sure, Party doesn’t know most of these people, but a rebel is a rebel. Everyone in this room either escaped the city or was born out in the desert, and they know what the Dracs are like, what they do to strongholds, to the people who live out there. No one here would _do_ that!

    _‘It’s not a fuckin’ voluntary thing, Party,’_ Kobra sends back, and this time Party can feel his own barely-concealed horror.

    _‘Then why the fuck--why_ them?’

    _‘Re-education doesn’t affect everyone,’_ Kobra tells them, _‘and apparently it’s not enough for BL/ind to control just the 99%--they want_ everyone _under their control.’_

    Party feels sick. If they had a body, they’d throw up, they _know_ it. The Dracs--their brother and Ghoul’ve been fighting them for years, and it’s not like there’s never a casualty! They’ve been...they’ve _killed_ other rebels. BL/ind’s been sending _rebels_ out to _kill and capture their own friends and family._

    And they didn’t even _know it._

    _‘Check the other rooms,’_ Kobta thinks to them, breaking them out of their thoughts. Right. Three more rooms of rebels being tortured until BL/ind, what? Deems them worthy of donning the Drac masks? Decides they’re too sleep-deprived to fight back?

    Fuck this.

    They might just find a way to vomit anyway, lack of a human body be damned.

    Party forces themself to turn away from the people here and go into the next room. Again, the lights are on, and there are people sleeping or sitting all around. There are fewer people in here, and Party does a quick count--there are eight. All rebels. No one they recognize.

    The third room has more people in it, seventeen, and Party realizes two things, almost simultaneously: one, that there are city people in here as well as rebels--maybe _more_ city than desert. Two, that every single one of them is a child.

    _‘Kobra. Kobra, what the_ hell,’ they think, forcing their thoughts to carry the full weight of the disgust they’re feeling. _‘There’s_ kids _here. Wh-- Does BL/ind turn_ kids _into Dracs? Have we--have people--have we been fightin’ fuckin’_ kids, _Kobra?!’_

    A pause. Party knows it can’t be longer than a few seconds, but it feels like they're waiting an eternity for a response. One of the kids--a rebel, can’t be more than twelve years old--coughs, a horrible, wet sound, and a white-clad Batt kid offers them a blanket. _Sick_ kids? BL/ind’s got meds that can cure _anything_ , and they’re letting a _kid_ sit around in here with fuckin’ _pneumonia?!_

_‘Jet says he doesn’t know anythin’ about kids,’_ Kobra sends. _‘He says BL/ind doesn’t make kids into Dracs, but he doesn’t know why they’re there, or what they do with ‘em. Fuck. Shit, we gotta--’_ Kobra cuts himself off, and a moment later, continues, _‘Check the last room, and then get back here. We gotta rest before we figure out what to do.’_

_‘Rest?!’_ Party would shout if they could, but they _can’t,_ so they just think it as hard as they can, think it with all the vehement incredulity they can muster. _‘We can’t fuckin’_ rest _, we gotta get over here_ now _and break these people out, we can’t--we can’t fuckin’ leave_ kids _here, Kobra!’_

_‘We can’t help anyone if we’re not up to full strength,’_ Kobra sends back, forcing calm along with his words, calm that doesn’t fool Party for a moment. _‘Trust me, Party, we’ll go as soon as we can. Just check the last room and get back here.’_

    Party doesn’t argue this time. He’s right, even if they don’t want to admit it. Fuck. They force themself into the fourth and final room, and they very carefully don’t flinch when the sick kid coughs again just before they leave the room behind.

    They’re almost relieved to find that the fourth room is much the same as the first: a group of rebels, all adults of various ages. And they _shouldn’t_ feel relieved, shouldn’t be _glad_ to find them here, but that’s honestly what they feel, because BL/ind is seriously so fucking _evil_ that they were afraid it’d be _more_ kids, afraid it’d be something even _worse_ somehow. They hate it. They _hate_ it.

    They don't recognize anyone in here. Which is more than a little concerning, because where’s Cat Scratch? Where’s the bartender’s brother? And those are just the people they _know_ have gone missing.

    _‘You’re sure there’s nowhere else they’d keep rebels?’_ they send to Kobra.

    _‘That’s it,’_ Kobra sends back. _‘If you haven’t found anyone else...it’s probably like Red said. They’re back in the city’s populace.’_

_‘Fuck.’_ Re-educated rebels, walking around Battery City like they _live_ here. How many rebels have been brainwashed, how many rebels have they wiped, sent out to play pretend, to act like the perfect citizens they could never be, never _wanted_ to be?

    How do they get them back? How can they _possibly_ get them back?

    _‘Come home, Party. You need to sleep.’_

_‘No, Kobes, we gotta find--’_

_‘I need to sleep,’_ Kobra interrupts, _‘_ Jet _needs to sleep. And he won’t sleep ‘til you’re back and resting, too. So get_ back _here.’_

    Party takes one last look around the room, makes a silent promise to return, and then they open their eyes to darkness.

    They gasp as they reenter their body, sitting up and burying their face in their hands. 

    Jet sits up with them, puts a hand on their shoulder, warm and gentle, comforting. “Party,” he whispers. “Are you okay?”

    “No, I’m not fucking _okay,”_ they hiss, leaning against him and hiding their face in his shoulder. “I always knew BL/ind was a bunch of sick bastards, but--but- _-kids,_ Jet! _Kids!”_

“I know,” he says, wrapping his arms around them. “Kobra told me. Party, I’m so sorry, I’ll--we’ll go get them, break them out. We--we can go right now, if you want, get them now, so they don’t have to--”

    “No.” Jet’s saying the same thing Party was just saying to Kobra, but now that they’re back in their body, they know their brother’s right. “We need to sleep. We’re no good to anybody like this, and they’ll be okay for a few more hours. They’ll be okay.”

Party lays back down, pulling Jet with them, and wrap their own arms around him. “Good night, Jet,” they whisper. “I love you.” They want to tell him that every chance they get. They _have_ to tell him, make sure he _knows_ it, so that if they--so if they die, or get caught, he’ll know. He’ll know how fuckin’ much he means to them.

“I love you, too,” he says, and it sounds like he’s thinking along the same lines Party is. They feel him press a kiss to their temple.

    It’ll be okay.

    It has to be okay.

 

\----------

 

They all convene in the main room of the basement the next morning.

    The girl is the first one awake, and she noisily bounces from person to person, clutching that black cat plush in her arms as she enthusiastically coaxes everyone awake.

    They don’t have time for the slow, comfortable process of waking up that Jet’s come to love, but he still strokes his fingers down Party’s spine, still kisses lightly at their neck as they stretch and mumble into their pillow. He won’t get to hold Party much today, which is a shame because he loves the weight of them in his arms, loves their warmth and the way they press up against him, but he reminds himself that there will be plenty of time for that later. When they’ve made it back home, safe in one piece.

    Kobra and Ghoul beat them out of the room, and Jet and Party emerge at the same time that all four of Monster Alarm’s gang tumble out of the room opposite theirs.

    “So what’d ya find out, Poison?” Monster Alarm asks, without so much as a _“good morning”_ as preface.

    “That BL/ind’s a buncha fuckin’ bastards,” Party replies, rubbing the heel of their hand into one eye. “Fuck, Monster, it’s nasty over there.”

    “Didja find Kiwi?” she demands. “He okay, at least?”

    Party groans, stretching their back until their spine makes a popping sound. Jet winces.

    “Yeah,” they say. “He’s in re-education, but he’s--well. He’s not brainwashed yet.”

    _“Fuck!”_ Monster Alarm spits. She slams her fist into the wall, doesn’t seem fazed when the brick cuts into her skin. “They can’t--Poison, we gotta get him out _now,_ he can’t go through that shit again!”

    “We’re movin’ today,” Party assures her, and Jet leaves them to their conversation to go see what he can scrounge up for breakfast. None of them had much to eat yesterday, just one small meal taken in the warehouse, but that’s not too unusual for desert-rebels, he’s found.

    Still, if they’re going to be breaking into HQ today, everyone should have at least a decent breakfast first.   

    He finds the door Anna had indicated as storage last night and opens it, stepping inside and flicking the light switch he finds just inside the door. It’s not a very large room, but the wire shelves are crammed full of food and supplies. 

    There’s no refrigerator or stove or anything to cook with, so he’s limited to dry goods and ready-to-eat canned foods, but still, there’s more to choose from than he’s had since he left the city. Cereal and granola bars and pickles and soup and _canned spaghetti,_ holy _shit._ There’s almost _too much_ to choose from.

    Still, he picks an assortment of things, food he knows will keep them energized throughout the day, even with a lot of physical activity, and foods he just thinks the others will enjoy. He piles them into his arms and adds a package of eating utensils to the stack before stepping back into the main room.

    One of the people from Monster Alarm’s gang--Fruit Punch, the girl with the pink and green hair--steps forward to help him carry some of it. Monster Alarm and Party are still in a heated discussion, and everyone else is seated on the floor, in various states of wakefulness.

    “Thanks,” he says to Fruit Punch. She grins back at him.

    “Sure thing! Ooh, oh my god, are these seriously Blueberry Breakfast Bars? I _crave_ these things, oh man, I haven’t had one since I was, like, thirteen!” She drops her armful of food on the desk--the only flat surface in the room, aside from the floor itself--and grabs the box of granola bars.

    Jet chuckles. “Have at it,” he says. “Should be enough for everyone, if you don’t mind sharing.”

    “Berry!” she calls, waving to the shortest--and only relatively normal-sized--member of her gang. “Check it out! Blueberry!” She launches one of the granola bars at them, and they frown heavily at her as it hits them in the chest and falls into their lap. “Go cannibalistic!”

    “It’s not cannibalism,” they say with an exasperated sigh, picking the bar up and ripping it open, “because, one: I’m not actually a goddamn _berry,_ and two: my name is Wild _Strawberry,_ not fucking _Blueberry._ ” They rip a hunk of the granola bar off with their teeth and chew it viciously. “Thanks, though. I guess.”

    Fruit Punch beams at them, and then immediately hurls another bar at the final member of their gang. “Coast!” she calls. “Incoming!”

    Jet turns his attention back to the items on the desk, ignoring the _“oof”_ and subsequent squabbling around him. He sorts the items into nine piles, trying to make a good balanced meal for everyone. If there’s one useful thing being a superhero taught him, it’s optimized nutrition.

    “Party,” he says, because Party’s the closest person to him at the moment and also he just loves talking to Party, “breakfast.”

    “And planning,” Kobra pipes up, coming forward and grabbing a pile of food for himself and a second one for Ghoul. “We got stuff to discuss.”

    Jet passes a couple of spoons to him and nods. Last night hadn’t been pleasant for anyone, not with what Party had seen and what Jet had told them. At least the girl had slept through everything, and Monster Alarm and the others hadn’t been in the room to hear about Kiwi’s reaction to Kobra. They presumably got some sleep.

    Jet hands out food, and then grabs his own meal. He squishes himself in between Party and Ghoul on the floor, where everyone else is seated in a circle. Party immediately leans against him, resting their head on his shoulder as they shovel a spoonful of vegetable stew into their mouth. Ghoul’s leaning against Kobra on his other side, but he does stretch out a leg alongside Jet’s, pressing up against it. It’s nice to have support. To _give_ support. He smiles to himself and opens a can of pears.

    “We gotta move fast,” Kobra says. “Some of our people are still in re-education. Gotta get ‘em out before that shit takes hold. Some people’ve already gone through it, we think. They’re out in the city somewhere. We gotta find out where, and figure out how to get ‘em back with us.” He pauses, glances around. Probably feeling out everyone’s reactions. Deciding what needs to be said, maybe, and what doesn’t.

    A moment later, he continues. “There’s another complication. BL/ind’s got a buncha our people--rebels, that is--in HQ’s basement. Kids, too. They’re--”

    “--They’re a goddamn priority,” Party cuts him off, gesturing with their plastic fork. “Maybe even above Pony an’ Kiwi.”

    “Nuh uh.” Monster Alarm, sitting across from them, shakes her head, bares her teeth. “We get the kids out, yeah, but we get Kiwi first. I’m not lettin’ him sit there and get his brain fuckin’ _destroyed_ again!”

    “He’ll be fine for a few more hours,” Party argues. “Kobes said the stuff hadn’t even started workin’ on him yet. But those kids, we don’t know what’s happenin’ to ‘em, and the rebels in the same area are set to be turned into fuckin’ _Draculoids.”_ They viciously stab their fork down into the can of stew in their hand. “That’s not fuckin’ _reversible_ like re-education!”

    At the word “Draculoid,” the room becomes still. Jet pauses in his chewing, feels like continuing to eat while the room is charged with this kind of tension would be not only rude, but potentially detrimental to his health.

    It’s Wild Strawberry who speaks up, breaking the silence. “Fuck,” they mutter, looking around Fruit Punch and Coastal Cooler to Monster Alarm. “Monster. They--”

    “Yeah, Berry,” she replies, sounding resigned. “Yeah, I get it. Shit.”

    Jet’s a little lost, but he’s not sure if this is a conversation he should be involved in, anyway. He shoots a glance at Party, who also looks confused.

    “You know,” Kobra says. It’s a statement, not a question. “You know what they do with the kids.”

    Wild Strawberry sends a glare in Kobra’s direction. “How the hell do--oh, right.” They shake their head. “Yeah, look, it’s not good, okay? We can’t leave ‘em there.”

    And how does this kid--seriously, they look like they can’t be much older than 16, maybe even younger than that when they aren’t scowling--know what’s going on here?

    There’s a prickle at the back of Jet’s neck.

    “We’re not gonna _leave ‘em,_ Berry,” Monster Alarm says, sounding strained. “We just gotta get Kiwi out first, we--”

    “Kiwi would want us to get the kids first,” Coastal Cooler interrupts. “You know what he said, when Berry told--”

    “But Kiwi’s prob’ly _panicking_ right now, you know he--”

    “Hey, hey!” the girl, seated on Party’s other side, tosses her stuffed cat into the middle of the circle, halting the unproductive conversation. “What’s BL/ind do to kids?”

    It’s quiet again. Jet feels Party shift away from him, glances over to see them leaning toward the kid. Comforting her. He bites his lip, looks across at Wild Strawberry again. Their scowl is still firmly in place, but now they seem...nervous.

    Jet hates this place.

    Wild Strawberry sighs loudly, fisting their hands in their too-big shirt. “They’re immune,” they say simply, and there’s no hint of emotion in their tone. “So BL/ind’s got no use for ‘em.”

    “So what do they do with ‘em?” Ghoul asks. His leg beside Jet’s is tense, stiff. “What do they do with the _kids?”_

    “What d’you _think?”_ Wild Strawberry snaps. There’s a fire in their eyes that wasn’t there a moment before. “What’s BL/ind do with anythin’ they can’t use? They toss it.” They wave their hand in a quick, sweeping motion. “Those junk piles out there on the other side of the wall. Useless garbage, right? That’s what the immune are to them. Garbage. So they toss ‘em out in the desert to die.”

    Jet freezes, clutching tightly at the nearly-empty can in his hand. It makes sense--of course it does. Adults who are immune, or even just too troublesome to warrant constant re-education, can usually be manipulated by the Draculoid masks into working for BL/ind. But kids...even the citizens would riot if they knew BL/ind used _children_ as soldiers. But they can’t just keep them around, either. It makes sense.

    But even knowing this, knowing what BL/ind is like, even having seen the company from the inside, it’s shocking. It shouldn’t be shocking. It should _always_ be shocking! BL/ind takes _children_ out into the desert and lets them die of _exposure._ Children!

    He feels almost dizzy at the thought. Dizzy, and sick, and _horrified._ He spent almost a decade working for them. Spent _months_ at a time under their direct control, with no knowledge of what they had him do during that time.

    Had he ever been the one to drive them out there? Had he ever been the one to abandon them in the sands, far from any civilization, far from any resources?

    Would it matter if he _had?_ Does being associated with BL/ind, no matter how tentatively, no matter how against his will, make him a child murderer?

    Does it matter either way? He shouldn’t be focusing on himself at all. There are kids in BL/ind HQ right now- _-right now!-_ -who are going to go through that if they don’t do something, and do it _soon._

    “How do you know--” Ghoul cuts himself off, which strikes Jet as more than a little unusual.

    “I was one of ‘em,” Wild Strawberry says, as though Ghoul had completed his question. “I’m immune, like they are, and I almost died in the fuckin’ desert ‘cause of it, and we can’t let those kids go through the same thing, and--fuck.” They end on a choked sound, and Jet looks down into the can in his hands. 

    How many kids?

    How many _lives?_

    “We don’t have to choose one mission over another,” Kobra says. “We can split into teams, get everyone out at once.”

    “What about the people still in the city?” Jet asks, forcing himself to focus on the mission at hand. He has a feeling it’ll take more than a single day to track each of them down and get them out of here, especially if they have to sneak past BL/ind. And there’s no way they’re going to be able to sneak out--how many people had Party said were down in the basement? Forty? Plus those currently in re-education for about sixty total--sixty people out of headquarters.

    They might be able to sneak in, but there’ll be no sneaking out.

    “We’ll get as much information as we can while we’re in HQ,” Kobra says. “Try to find as many people as we can. Get the information to the city rebels. We won’t be able to get them all out.”

    That’s a somber thought. Jet knows that Party’s already located the main two people they came out here to find, but there’s still _so many_ people missing. He knows that under the effects of re-education, they won’t realize what they’re missing, what they’ve been taken from, _who_ they’ve been taken from, but...still.

    “We’ll split into teams,” Party says, pressing closer to Jet. They’ve got the girl tucked under their arm. “One to C-3, one to A-7, one to the basement? And me here, I guess.”

    Jet shakes his head. “We can’t all go into HQ,” he says. “It’ll be hard enough for one or two of us to sneak around. If all of us go in, there’s no way we’ll all be getting out.”

    “Well, fuck,” Party says. “Whaddaya think, then? You’re the one who knows the place best.”

    Oh, shit. Now everyone’s looking at him expectantly. He feels himself bite his lip, feels himself start to tap his fingers on his leg. He can’t be responsible for this. For making plans like _this._

    Party takes his hand and squeezes it. Ghoul taps his knee with his own. He feels better.

    Jet takes a breath. “I need to go in,” he starts, “because like you said, I know it best. You need to stay here, so you can astral project without worrying about someone finding your body.” He thinks. “Someone should go talk to some of the other rebels, see if anyone knows anything about the desert rebels in the city. Maybe get a few of them to help prepare an escape route for when we get everyone out of headquarters?”

    “Anna and Luca can probably help with that,” Kobra says. “And I need to go to HQ with you. I’ve gotta get close enough that I can clearly hear thoughts in the building, see what kinda information I can get.”

    Jet nods. “Okay. Makes sense. We could probably also use some eyes on the city streets themselves, keep an eye out for anything useful without attracting BL/ind’s attention.” He looks around their circle. Everyone’s wearing Better Living white, but there’s still differences to people’s appearances that would make them stand out on the streets--even with hats. Ghoul, Kobra, Wild Strawberry, and himself are the only ones with “normal” hair colors, but he and Kobra are going to HQ, Ghoul would definitely stand out in Battery City due to his non-conformist nature, and he doesn’t know if Wild Strawberry would be willing to go out on the streets, considering the story they'd just shared with everyone. Coastal Cooler technically has a "normal" hair color too, almost the same shade of blond as Kobra's, but Jet knows for a fact that with Coastal Cooler's dark skin, BL/ind would never approve of blond hair in any shade. 

It should be easy enough to hide Coastal Cooler's hair, darken it up a bit maybe, and he seems pretty laid-back, so he'd probably be able to handle the streets okay...but who to pair him with?

    _‘Pair up Coast and Strawberry,’_ Kobra thinks to him. _‘They can handle it.’_

    Jet nods again. “Okay,” he says aloud. “Kobra and I’ll get into HQ. Coastal Cooler and Wild Strawberry, you’ll be on the streets. Mon--”

    “I wanna go to HQ!” Wild Strawberry interjects. “I wanna get those kids outta the basement. I wanna make BL/ind _pay.”_

“Uh, it’s not really--a fighting mission--” Jet starts, but Monster Alarm cuts him off.

    “Yeah, I’m goin’ in, too! I gotta bust Kiwi out, and I wanna take as many’a those bastards out on the way through as I can!” she says. She slams her fist into the palm of her other hand.

    And, well, that seems like a really good reason to _not_ let either of them go. Vengeance is...well, understandable, but definitely not helpful in this situation. It seems like a really good way to get caught before they can do what they need.

    Jet hesitates for a moment, but then he says, raising his voice so he can be clearly heard, “No.”

    They stop talking and level him with glares. He doesn’t back down; he’s dealt with worse. “Kobra and I are the only ones going into HQ,” he says. “The rest of you have other jobs. We all need to _work together_ to make sure we actually _get everyone out.”_ He pauses, looks around at everyone. “You want your friend--Kiwi Blast--out, right?”

    Monster Alarm nods tersely at him, her mouth set in a firm line. 

    “‘Course we do!” Fruit Punch exclaims. She has one hand on Wild Strawberry’s knee, clearly a comforting gesture, and her other hand is clenched tightly around Coastal Cooler’s. “We’ll do, like, whatever we need to. Right?” She looks to Wild Strawberry, then peers around Coastal Cooler to Monster Alarm. _“Right?”_ she prods.

    Monster Alarm lets out a huff, shoulders drooping. “Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. 

    Wild Strawberry bares their teeth at Jet, but they don’t say anything else, so he figures they’re agreeing. He nods his thanks to Fruit Punch, then continues.

    “Okay. So, Coastal Cooler and Wild Strawberry to the streets. Monster Alarm and Fruit Punch, you’ll talk to the other city rebels.” He gestures toward the secret tunnel behind the bookshelf. “You four will also be backup if we run into trouble.” Hopefully they won’t, but it _is_ good to have backup. If something goes _really_ wrong, the four of them and any other rebels willing to help should be able to get at least _some_ people out.

    He looks to Party, and to Ghoul, on either side of him. “Party, Ghoul. You stay here.” He looks at Party again, who’s staring up at him solemnly. “You should be okay here without a guard,” he says, and then turns to Ghoul again, “but...just in case….”

    Ghoul shrugs. “I got it. I’ll keep their corpse company.” He looks at Kobra. “Just don’t take too long. It’s gonna be boring.”

    Jet sees Kobra give Ghoul a small smile, turns away; it seems like a private moment, somehow.

    “What about me?” The girl asks, peering up from around Party. “I wanna help, too!”

    “Uh,” says Jet. “Um. You can...uh.” Is he supposed to assign a job to an _eight-year-old?_

“You can go with Coast and Strawberry,” Party tells her. “They’ll need someone to show ‘em around. Make sure they don’t get caught by the cameras. Yeah?”

    She nods eagerly. “I can do that!” 

    “Good.” They grin at her, and then shoot a wink at Jet, who is...well.

    He’s impressed. Not only because that seems like a perfect solution, but also because Party is, apparently, good with kids. And he isn’t quite sure why that makes his chest feel tight, isn’t quite sure he wants to contemplate it too much in these circumstances, but he leans over and plants a kiss on their forehead anyway.

    “So,” Kobra says, catching Jet’s attention. He’s looking over Ghoul’s head, tiny smile in place. “Jet Star and the Kobra Kid, huh?” he chuckles, barely audible. “The two of us, what could go wrong?”

    And Jet Star grins back. When Kobra says it like that, well...it’s easy to believe that they’ll succeed.

 

\----------

 

    They have to wait for Red and Hen to arrive before they can get going, because they can’t open the door to the living room from down here with that sofa over the top of it, so in the meantime they finish their breakfast, radio Hot Chimp and Newsie with their updates, and go over their plans once more.

    Ghoul’s not too happy with his job, just hanging around Party’s empty body while everyone else is fighting and sneaking around restricted access buildings--which sounds exciting and is definitely something he wants in on--but he gets it. His power won’t be much help with breaking into headquarters, and he’d be too obvious out on the street, and as much as he likes Strawberry and Monster and the others, he doesn’t trust them enough to leave them to watch Party. He’s the best fit for this job.

    Even if that means being alone and leaving Kobra to go off and risk his fucking life fighting BL/ind _alone-_ -he’ll have Jet, Ghoul tries to tell himself, but it doesn’t really help much because for as long as he’s known Kobra, ever since they started working together, the first time he _spoke_ to Kobra, the first time they fought together, using their powers together, to _protect people,_ they’ve been a _team,_ and one of them going off to fight alone, it just--

    It isn’t right.

    And of course, because he’s Kobra, he can tell Ghoul’s upset--would probably be able to even without his power--and so while they’re waiting, he sticks close to Ghoul and holds his hand.

    Ghoul kind of wants to take him back into the bedroom and keep him there, hold onto him until it’s time to go home, but that’s stupid because he needs to be at HQ. They can’t go home until Kobra does what he needs to do, and delaying things would only make everything worse.

    He also kind of wants to follow Kobra out of the house and into HQ. He can’t do that, either, of course. So he just sits with his hand in Kobra’s, and they don’t think anything directly to each other, but they can feel each other’s thoughts, feel the vague hints of feelings, emotions, whatever flickers through their heads.

    There’s a noise from the top of the stairs, a banging sound, and then someone calls out, “It’s only us! Can we come down?”

    Red Rooster. 

    “Yeah, c’mon, we got stuff to do and we gotta get movin’!” Party calls out from their place closer to the stairs. 

    Now that Ghoul’s had--not quite a full day, but at least a few hours plus a night’s sleep--since meeting...his parents, he supposes, he’s feeling--not exactly _okay_ with the situation, because he still isn’t sure he should trust them, can’t bring himself to just _forget_ the way he grew up.

    But...he thinks he’s willing to at least be _friendly_ with them. Maybe. Depends on what they say to him, how they act. But he’s open to it.

    Kobra squeezes his hand, leans over to rest his cheek against the top of Ghoul’s head for just a moment before straightening up again.

    It’s quickly decided that Mother Hen will accompany Monster and Fruitsy to talk to the other rebels, and Red Rooster will stay here with Ghoul and Party.

    Now Ghoul’s nervous for a lot of reasons, but it’ll be okay, he tells himself. Kobra will have Jet, and Ghoul won’t be all alone.

    He’ll just be stuck in here with a man he doesn’t know, who says he’s Ghoul’s father. Without Kobra to lean on, to help him sort out his feelings, because he’s going to be off _risking his life_ in a BL/ind facility.

    Fuck, does everything really have to happen all at once?

    Once everything’s sorted out, people start leaving. The girl goes over and opens up the door behind the bookshelf, waits impatiently as Fruitsy plants kisses on Coast’s and Strawberry’s cheeks. She does the same to Party and Jet, and then comes over to Ghoul and Kobra.

    “Good luck,” she tells them. Ghoul accepts her offered kiss only because he knows it’ll make her feel better.

    She, Monster, and Mother Hen disappear into the tunnel, and the bookshelf swings back into place behind them. Mother Hen sends a glance his way just before the door closes; he returns it, unsure of what emotions he sees in her eyes, of what emotions _she_ sees in _his._

Three down. Eight left.

    The girl leads Coast and Strawberry up the stairs, telling them all about where she’ll take them, what she’ll show them. Their voices fade out as they leave the basement, vanishing into the house proper.

    Six down. Five left.

    Ghoul squeezes Kobra’s hand at the bottom of the stairs, looks up at him. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he tells him. This isn’t what he means to say, but it’s what comes out.

    Kobra smiles at him, leans down and kisses his forehead, softly, sweetly. “Could never,” he murmurs, and Ghoul knows he’s understood what he meant to say.

    He and Jet leave, and just before they’re out of sight, Ghoul calls, “Bring ‘im back in one piece, Jet Star, or I’ll feed you nothin’ but sand an’ glass for the rest of your life!”

    “I’ll watch his back, Ghoul,” Jet calls back, and Kobra sends him the fond amusement that must be bouncing around in his own chest.

    And then they’re gone, and it’s just the three of them left in the basement.

    Party puts their hand on his shoulder, leans in close. “Hey fucker,” they say, “I’m gonna blast my ghost outta here and check the buildin’ out a little before they get there. You wanna come with me, or you good out here?”

    Ghoul hesitates, carefully doesn’t look in Red’s direction. Party’s giving him the option to ignore Red and the weird, heavy atmosphere hanging around the two of them, or at least delay dealing with it.

    But...whatever’s gonna happen, he wants to get it over with. He wants to know what Red has to say, wants an _explanation_ for everything. 

    So he gives Party a little shake of his head. “Nah,” he says, keeping his tone even. “I’ll stay out here, keep an eye on the doors. Have fun bein’ a ghost.”

    Party smiles at him, and punches him in the shoulder before turning and heading back to the bedroom. “Don’t let anyone murder my corpse!” they call to him.

    “Mm, yeah, we’ll see,” Ghoul replies, rolling his eyes.

    The door shuts behind them, and the basement is suddenly quiet. Almost eerily quiet, because now there’s no sounds of people, murmuring and fidgeting, and the air is charged with an awkward feeling, a nervous energy, and Ghoul knows _something_ is going to happen.

    Red sighs, quietly, and turns to him. "I know you don't want to talk to me,” he says, which is only partially true. “And that's okay, I understand. But, would you please let me talk to you?"  
    Ghoul doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that. After a moment, he shrugs one shoulder. "Fine,” he says.

“Thank you.” He sounds relieved.

There’s another pause. Red walks over to the single table in the room and pulls out one of the chairs, sits down and gestures at the other. Ghoul shakes his head; he needs to hear what Red has to say, he _knows_ that, but sitting down he’d feel too trapped. He needs to be able to bolt if things get too...heavy? Of course this conversation’s going to be heavy.

Whatever. He’ll know when it gets to be too much, and he needs to be able to leave before he hits the breaking point. Again.

Red doesn’t seem too upset at Ghoul’s refusal. He simply moves the chair so that he’s facing Ghoul, sits with his hands in his lap. He sighs again, and then he says, “Your mother--” 

Ghoul feels himself tense up at the word, can’t help it. He doesn’t mean to react-- _’mother’_ shouldn’t be a word that sets his danger alarm blaring--but he does, and Red must see this, because he stops, pauses, and starts again.

 _“Anna_ and I were paired up by BL/ind. I’m sure you know that’s not exactly uncommon--most marriages are pre-selected matches.”

“I’ve heard,” Ghoul replies. This isn’t quite how he’d expected this conversation to start. He’d honestly been expecting...an explanation. Excuses, maybe. But what _is_ this? A love story?

Red nods to him. “We didn’t have much time to get to know each other. We were married, and we spent most of our time working. We...avoided each other, mostly, when we could get away with it.” He pauses for just a moment. “You were born a little over a year after we were married.”  
    He waits, seemingly for a reply, so Ghoul nods to him.

He continues, eyes falling closed. “When you were born, it was like...we were complete. When we first held you in our arms, when we first saw you open your eyes…” A smile crosses his face, faint but genuine. “All of your firsts. All of _our_ firsts. It was like a _miracle._ We...well. When you were born, it sparked something between the two of us, between your m--Anna and me.” The smile on his face grows wider. “And we fell in love.”   
    Ghoul doesn’t reply. He just watches him, watches Red. Carefully doesn’t think about what he’s hearing, carefully doesn’t apply it to what he knows about himself, about his childhood.

“We were the perfect family for years. Perfect in that BL/ind considered us a success, perfect in that...well, we felt that our life _was_ perfect. We worked during the day, and in the evening we came home to you, and to each other, and things were good. Things were... _wonderful.”_   
    Another pause. Red’s eyes open, and the corners of his mouth tilt downward, not quite a frown, but no longer a smile, either. “And then...your power presented itself.”

Ah. Here we go, then. Little baby Ghoul learned how to do a super-sonic, killing scream and ruined their happy marriage, their perfect life. He’d been wondering if that would come up, knew it couldn’t be avoided, but--

“No, don’t do that,” Red says, softly but firmly, and it snaps Ghoul out of his thoughts. His eyes meet Red’s. “I’m not blaming you,” he continues. “You were a toddler, you had no idea what was happening. You can’t be held responsible for that.”

Ghoul swallows, relaxes his shoulders and unclenches his fists. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding himself any differently. “How did you know--”

“Anna always has to tell me to stop feeling guilty for things,” he says. It’s a statement, a simple fact. It reminds Ghoul of how he is with Kobra, how they both watch out for each other, keep each other from diving too deep into their own--or other people’s--heads.

After a moment, Red clears his throat. “Anyway.” He lets out a breath. “You were five years old when your powers manifested. You were too young to know how to control it. Your mo--Anna and I. We heard you scream in your room. We heard smashing glass, things being thrown around. We were so scared.”

Ghoul remembers this. Not this exact moment, of course, he can’t remember much of anything from before the desert--but he remembers being angry, being so _mad,_ or _frustrated,_ and all he could do was scream to get that feeling out. He remembers things breaking, people screaming, remembers being scolded, or beaten, or run away from. Everyone was afraid of him as a child; it doesn’t surprise him to learn that his _parents_ were the first people he terrified.

“We didn't know what was happening, of course, but we ran in, and we found you on the floor, surrounded by the broken remains of furniture and toys, glass strewn all over the carpet, the windows blown out.” Red shakes his head. “The only explanation we could think of was that you had a superpower, and we...we knew what we had to do.”

“So you gave me to BL/ind,” Ghoul says. This, too, is a statement, a simple fact. He knows that BL/ind has strict rules around children with superpowers. His being a fucking _toddler_ at the time wouldn’t have changed anything. And his parents were scared, _terrified._ Of course they handed him over as soon as he used his power.

Red looks stricken. “No,” he says, surprised. _Surprised?_ “Is that what--is that what you thought, all this time?” He leans forward in the chair. “That we gave you up?”

He doesn’t reply. There’s something stuck in his chest, something sharp, and he doesn’t know if Red’s words will drive it in further or rid him of it completely. _His parents didn’t give him up?_

    “We hid you,” Red says. He sits back in the chair, looks at Ghoul with wide eyes. _Sincere_ eyes.”We hid you, as best we could. It was...a tough decision. Well, no. It wasn’t tough. We loved you--”

    The sharp something in his chest twinges, and he holds his breath.

    “--we couldn’t bear to be separated from you. You would have been raised away from us, in one of BL/ind’s facilities, and you were...so young. We just wanted a few more years with you. But to do that, we had to go against BL/ind, and that…” he shakes his head. _“That_ was difficult. We trusted BL/ind back then, believed that they truly did things only for the good of the citizens. Disobeying them….” Another head shake. “We’d been taught from birth to believe that was the worst thing we could ever do. But you...you were more important than that. We agreed on that.”

    Red stops talking. He’s not looking at Ghoul, instead focusing on the hands in his lap, and to Ghoul the tension in the air feels thick enough to touch. 

    He clears his throat, drawing Red’s attention back to him, and he asks, quietly, “So. You...hid me?”

    Red smiles, briefly, just a small uptick to his lips. “For a while,” he says. “But BL/ind has eyes and ears everywhere, and back then we weren’t so careful, didn’t know how to evade them. BL/ind noticed something in our behavior had changed, and they started watching us more closely, and they learned about your power.”

    They hadn’t told BL/ind. Had they really--kept him a secret? Ghoul doesn’t have firsthand knowledge of what it’s like to live here, in the city, but from what he’s heard from Kobra and Party, and from other people who escaped...if it’s true, that they kept him a secret from BL/ind, hid him and his powers, even for just a little while, then that’s something big. That’s something huge.

    “They came to our house and took you away,” Red continues. His eyes have shifted again, looking down at the floor, his mouth set in a firm line. “Your mo--Anna and I, we fought tooth and nail to keep them away from you. To get _you_ away from _them._ But we--we couldn’t. There was nothing we could do, no way we could--they just--” he cuts himself off with a choked sound, and suddenly the sharp feeling in Ghoul’s chest is nothing but a dull ache.

    “I get it,” he says. “You tried, it didn’t work out. Keep going.”

    Red sucks in a breath, nods once. “They took you away,” he says, voice quiet, “and because we’d disobeyed them, because we’d hidden you from them, they dragged us off to re-education.”

    “Oh.” Of course they did. Of course they….

    “It took us _years_ to break free from the hold they had on our minds. And when we finally pulled ourselves free--Anna broke out of it first, it took me a few more months--we were distant. It was like the first year of our marriage again, but... _worse._ We didn’t know what had happened to you. When we woke up, we had a vague awareness of time having passed, of our lives going on, and we hoped we’d at least have news of you, be able to somehow be a part of your life, however distantly, but BL/ind just said you were gone.” Red’s bouncing his leg now, seemingly unaware of it. “Not dead, not _missing,_ just _gone._ That’s all they said to us. That you were _gone._ ” He stops bouncing his leg, plants his foot firmly on the floor. “The loss of you...the lack of closure...it was too much for us.”

    Ghoul thinks back to when Party went missing, how Kobra could barely hold himself together. Thinks about what it would be like to lose them, for months, for _years,_ to have no clue what had happened to them. He thinks it’s kind of amazing that Red and Hen didn’t let it destroy them. “When did that...change?” he asks. “How did--when did you become rebels?”

    “A few years ago. We’d spent so long ignoring each other, devastated and unable... _unwilling_ to talk to each other, afraid that it would just open the wounds up again, hurt _worse._ But then...BL/ind started reporting on a pair of supervillains out in the desert, disrupting their operations. And both of these supervillains had sound-based powers.” The tiny smile is back, and he looks up at Ghoul, almost shyly. “Just like our son.”

    Ghoul blinks. “You saw--me and Kobra--?”

    “We _heard_ about you,” his-- _Red_ corrects. “BL/ind rarely showed video of the supervillains, of _you,_ not unless they could manipulate the footage in their favor, and even then there were rarely close-ups, and we never saw you without your masks. But...we knew. Or, we _hoped._ That one of them was you. That our son had survived, that he’d _escaped,_ that he was _fighting back.”_

“And that--” Ghoul can barely get the words out, he feels so _overwhelmed,_ a thousand thoughts racing through his head at once, but it isn’t like yesterday, he isn’t going to lose himself, he just--his parents became rebels because of _him?_ “That’s why you wanted to rebel?”

“Yes.” Red sits up straight in his chair. “We were better at it this time. Sneakier. It isn’t difficult to find other rebels, if you know where to look, who to ask. What to wear. We saw you fighting back, using your power for _good,_ and we wanted to help you, however we could. Even if...even if you _weren’t_ our son, we wanted to help you.”

“So you became smugglers.”

“Yes. The rebels we met told us how difficult it was to get supplies out there, and we wanted to make sure you had food. Medicine. It’s easy to get supplies when you have a good job, and, well.” He shrugs. “It was all we could do. Your m--Anna wanted to leave the city, join you out there. Track you down and fight beside you, but…”

“You didn’t know if it was really me.”

“Yes. That. And, I...was afraid. To leave.” He looks a little sheepish now. Ghoul’s mind is still reeling. “The desert was- _-is-_ -an unknown to me. I thought we could do more good here, without risking so much. And so...that’s how we’ve spent the last few years. Assisting the fight however we can.”   
    How many times has Ghoul bought supplies sent out into the desert by his own _parents?_ How many times has he eaten something _his parents_ sent out, hoping it would land in his hands, hoping they could help him in some small way? How many cans of peaches, how many loaves of...homemade bread….

His _parents_ made that bread.

He shakes himself, focuses on Red. On his _father._ “And now…?” he prompts.

“Now you’re here, Fun Ghoul.” The tiny smile widens again, spreading slowly across his face and making his eyes _shine._ “Now we know, know it’s _you,_ and we’re so glad….” The smile shrinks again. “I’m sorry we weren’t there for you. I’m sorry for whatever you’ve been through--”

“No.” Ghoul cuts him off. He walks over and pulls the empty chair away from the table, sits down beside his father. He looks him in the eye, sees the surprise there, the _hope._ He looks down at the table before he begins to speak again. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “I-- I had it rough. No one could handle a kid who destroyed buildings, who _killed people_ when he had temper tantrums.” He tries to focus on the words he’s saying, rather than the hurt and anger that _remembering_ dredges up. “I went from person to person. Family to family. Until I was thirteen. And then I just...went out on my own.”

“Fun Ghoul--” His father’s tone is half-sadness, half-horror. Ghoul doesn’t let him finish his sentence, doesn’t let him apologize again.

“I didn’t talk for years. I was afraid I’d kill someone with a single word. I was scared--” an understatement, “--and alone--” not entirely by choice, “and it’s...it’s not your fault.”

His father doesn’t say anything.

“When I met Kobra, my life was a wreck.” Ghoul feels some of the anger leech out of him at the thought of Kobra. He settles back against his seat a little bit. “He helped me pick up the pieces, helped me figure out how to control my power. We fight together, protect people when we can. Without him….” Without Kobra, Ghoul wouldn’t be here right now. He wouldn’t be here, in a musty basement with his _father_ in Battery City. He wouldn’t be _here,_ wouldn’t have survived this long. 

There’s a pause, the atmosphere calmer but still tense. After a few moments, his father says, “You love him.”

Not a question. A statement, a simple fact. Ghoul feels his lips quirk upward, feels warmth in his chest. He turns, looks at his father. “I love him,” he agrees. “He’s--he and Party. And Jet. They’re my family.” Family. People who love him, people who protect him, who help him however they can. “Kobra is...the most important person to me, but. They’re all my family.”

His father exhales, a steady stream, and nods. “I’m so glad you have someone,” he says. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be there, Fun Ghoul--”

“Ghoul.”

His father blinks at him. “...Excuse me?”

“You can call me Ghoul. You…” He lifts his chin, leans forward. His heart is pounding, his chest is warm, he knows what he has to do, what he wants to say. “I’d like it. If you would call me that. ...It’s what my family calls me.”

His father blinks again, and then that wide smile is spreading across his face again, and his eyes are shining with what can only be the start of tears, and he says, in a voice choked with emotion, “Ghoul.”  
    And Ghoul grins back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had some pretty dark elements. Hopefully the final scene cushioned it all a little! ;u;
> 
> ART: https://remedyreject.tumblr.com/post/186691316688/i-drew-2-things-this-time-the-first-one-is-just  
> Check out this Monster Alarm!! She's so pretty, thank you SO much!!! 💖
> 
> Thank you all for reading!! Feel free to leave kudos or a comment; I'd love to know your thoughts!!
> 
> See you all next week! Things are coming to a head...the stakes have been upped....you'll want to pack some tissues and a bottle of water. Trust me. 😘


	24. Kill the Party With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet and Kobra enter BL/ind HQ.  
> Something goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 32!
> 
> big thank you as always to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading! and also for enabling me. :3c
> 
> PLEASE READ THIS NOTE. This chapter gets heavy. This chapter gets scary. This chapter ends on a cliffhanger. Please read all warnings listed below and decide whether or not you want to proceed. If you need more information about any of the warnings, you can message me on tumblr ( http://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com ). I will provide as much information as you need, including spoilers for this and possibly the next chapter, so you can decide whether to read or not.  
> You may want to wait to read this chapter until next week, when the final chapter is posted. This is perfectly okay. Be safe.
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: blood, gore, broken/dislocated bones, electrocution, fire, brainwashing, death. 
> 
> Enjoy! 😘

_ ‘You’re sure this is the best way in?’ _ Kobra thinks to Jet. They’d agreed early not to speak unless absolutely necessary, to avoid being spotted as best they could.

_ ‘Yes,’ _ Jet thinks back. They’re standing in an alleyway not too far from Better Living HQ, away from any cameras, as far as Jet knows. There are people passing by the alley, on their way to or from work, no doubt, but no one glances into the darkness to spot them.  _ ‘This door has the least amount of security, because it’s not directly connected to anything important.’ _

__ _ ‘How do we get to where we need to get once we’re in?’ _

__ _ ‘We need to get security bracelets somehow.’ _ That’s the part that’s going to be hardest, but they won’t be able to open the re-education doors or get to the basement at all without one. Well, maybe one or both of them could use their power to blast them open, but, again, that’s not exactly stealthy.

_ ‘Who usually carries them?’ _ Kobra asks.

_ ‘Superheroes and execs have the highest clearance,’ _ Jet thinks to him.  _ ‘Aside from the Director herself. Exterminators and a few others have a slightly lower clearance, but they should still be able to get into re-education rooms.’ _ He sends Kobra an image of each title’s uniform, so he knows who to look for.

He sees Kobra nod out of the corner of his eye.  _ ‘So we should be able to just take one of ‘em out and steal their bracelet, yeah?’ _

__ _ ‘That should work. As long as we can make sure they won’t wake up soon enough to get everyone chasing us.’ _

_ ‘We’ll figure that out when we get to it,’ _ Kobra thinks to him, and Jet barely suppresses his eyeroll--before remembering that no one’s going to punish him for being insubordinate, and then he rolls his eyes anyway.

Kobra sends him a little thread of amusement. Jet ignores this and continues on.

_ ‘I’m not sure how comfortable I am with  _ “figuring it out when we get to it,”’ he thinks,  _ ‘But I guess it’s the best plan we have for now.’ _ He pauses.  _ ‘Are you ready, then?’ _

__ _ ‘As I’ll ever be.’ _ Kobra rolls his neck, flexes his jaw.  _ ‘Party’s heading in now. They’ll make sure no one sneaks up on us.’ _

__ _ ‘Got it.’ _ Jet tugs his Better Living Industries hat down over his face, tucks his red-stained hands into his pockets, and peers out of the alley. There are still people around, of course, but he doesn’t see anything--anyone--alarming. 

They both step out of the alleyway and head up the sidewalk. Jet hopes they don’t look too suspicious--he  _ feels _ suspicious, but he’s always felt suspicious, always had something to hide. Now he just has more things to hide, more people relying on him than ever before.

_ ‘It’s fine,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘You look like a regular citizen. It’s not a problem.’ _

__ _ ‘I hope you’re right.’ _

__ _ ‘I’m always right, Jet Star, why the fuck would you doubt me?’ _

Jet snorts, and then immediately turns it into a cough. Laughter in the streets is a good way to draw attention to himself.  _ ‘You’re gonna get us caught!’ _

__ _ ‘No,  _ you’re  _ gonna get us caught. And before you start freaking out, no one noticed you just there. You’re  _ fine.’

They come up to the door. It’s one of the few non-digital doors leading into the building, though not the one he and Party used when they escaped. 

_ ‘Is the coast clear?’ _ Jet thinks to Kobra. 

_ ‘Party says there’s no one around. Go for it.’ _

Jet grabs the door handle and tugs. It doesn’t budge. Of course it doesn’t; it’s locked.  _ Shit.  _ He’s an idiot. How the hell are they supposed to get in when  _ the door is locked? _

Kobra knocks his shoulder into Jet’s, pushing him out of the way.  _ ‘Locks are easy,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘Check it out.’ _ He puts his hand in front of the door’s key hole and pinches his fingers together. There’s a sharp sound, a short, high whistling that makes Jet wince, and then the door opens in Kobra’s grip.

_ ‘I didn’t know you could do that,’ _ Jet thinks.  _ ‘Lock-picking seems more like Party’s skillset. ...Or Ghoul’s.’ _

_ ‘You just gotta know how to use your power,’ _ Kobra thinks. He pulls the door open and steps inside, holding it open for Jet.

The hallway they find themselves in is empty. It’s unsurprising, because this isn’t an important area of the building, but it still makes Jet feel uneasy.

This is the building he worked in,  _ lived _ in, for a decade. It’s eerie now, the fluorescent lights and white walls seeming like something out of a dream- _ -a nightmare- _ -than reality. 

He shakes his head to clear it and pulls the door shut behind him. There’s a camera pointed at the door, so he knows there’s at least a recording of them coming in. Hopefully they look enough like BL/ind employees that no one will think anything of it, and even better luck would have no one watching the feeds for this particular hall at the moment, anyway.

_ ‘Do we just wander until we find someone to steal a bracelet from?’ _ Jet thinks to Kobra, as they stride purposefully down the hall.

_ ‘Unless you have a better idea,’ _ Kobra thinks back.  _ ‘I can lead you to people nearby, but I can’t tell what their clearance level is unless they’re actively thinkin’ about it.’ _

__ _ ‘And aside from superheroes--who I don’t think we want to run into--it won’t be easy to tell who’s who by their uniform, so Party probably can’t help much, either.’  _ It seems...dangerous. To just wander into people like that. They’ll have to incapacitate whoever they steal from, and if they come across too many people, eventually someone will question them, or recognize Jet. Not to mention the cameras. How are they going to do this without  _ someone _ spotting them?

_ ‘One of us can use our power to take out the cameras,’ _ Kobra silently suggests. They’re approaching an intersection, and Kobra gestures to the left. Jet thinks for a moment, easily recalling where this hall leads, and then nods. They head that way. 

__ _ ‘That won’t work,’ _ Jet thinks back.  _ ‘Without the cameras they’ll  _ know _ something’s wrong and come looking. At least, if  _ too _ many cameras go out…. That’ll work for on the way out, but not when we haven’t even gotten anyone else out yet.’ _

__ _ ‘Then what do you suggest?’ _

Unless they luck out and come across someone of high enough clearance in a rare blind spot, there’s too much risk involved. The only other thing Jet can think to do is go straight to a security room and pick a bracelet up there. It would be tough, but less likely to draw attention than visibly fighting someone in the halls.

_ ‘Are you sure?’ _ Kobra sends, keeping pace with him.

_ ‘Yes,’ _ Jet says, swallowing his nerves.  _ ‘There are several security rooms around the building. They’re more isolated than many other places. It should be simple to--’ _

__ _ ‘You’re gettin’ stuck in that bad headspace again, Jet.’ _

__ Fuck, he’s right. Jet’s slipping into his perfect soldier mindset again. He stops, glancing at his wrist as though checking the time--in case anyone’s watching the cameras right now--and takes a few deep breaths, calming himself down, settling himself down, becoming  _ himself _ again.

After a few moments, he resumes walking. Kobra’s a few yards ahead of him now, but he doesn’t rush to catch up.  _ ‘Thanks,’ _ Jet thinks to him, and then he continues what he has to say.  _ ‘It’ll be easy to sneak into a security room, and if I can aim a disaster correctly, I should be able to take out the recording equipment and whoever’s assigned to watch the cameras without bein’ spotted, grab their security bracelet.’ _

__ _ ‘Then let’s do it,’ _ Kobra thinks to him, disappearing around a corner.  _ ‘Actually, would you be able to do that yourself?’ _

__ _ ‘Uh, probably. Why?’ _

__ _ ‘I still need to get as much information as I can about where the other rebels are in the city.’  _

Jet turns the same corner Kobra had, and sees him further up the hall, walking a bit slower--probably so Jet can catch up. He turns up the speed just enough to not raise suspicions, and a moment later, he’s walking by Kobra’s side again.  _ ‘You should go to record-keeping,’  _ he thinks to him.  _ ‘But you’ll need a security bracelet to access it, and they’re watched pretty closely in there.’ _

__ _ ‘Is there a place near the records I can access without security? Someplace I can hide out, maybe?’ _

__ Jet blinks, trying to quickly process this and find a solution. What’s closest? What’s best for what they need? What’s easiest to access?  _ ‘Oh. There’s a janitor’s closet near the record-keeping office in Block D-4. It doesn’t require any security clearance to open, and you should be able to hide in there for a while without anyone bothering you.’ _

__ _ ‘Perfect.’ _ They’re approaching another intersection, and Jet knows they have to part now.

‘ _ You’ll still be able to contact me from there, right?’ _

__ _ ‘I should be able to contact you from anywhere in the building,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘I can still feel Ghoul’s mind if I concentrate, and he’s not exactly nearby.’ _

__ _ ‘Okay.’ _ Jet risks a glance and a little nod in Kobra’s direction.  _ ‘Then let me know if you need help. Get to D-4, the record-keeping office will be the first right after you’re there.’ _ He turns away from Kobra, walking the opposite direction from him.  _ ‘The janitor’s closet is across the hall and two doors down.’ _

__ _ ‘Thanks, Jet. Good luck.’ _

__ _ ‘You too, Kobra.’ _

 

\----------

 

There are way more voices in Kobra’s head than he’s used to. He puts his mental shields up, limiting those thoughts he can hear to the building itself and blocking out everyone on the streets and buildings nearby. Even like this, there’s too many voices for him to sort through, thoughts tangling in his mind so he can only catch snippets unless he concentrates.

It’s going to be difficult to find the information he needs like this, but he’ll manage. First, he just has to find the damn janitor’s closet.

_ ‘Found D-4!’ _ Party thinks to him.  _ ‘You’re not far, just keep walkin’ forward. No one’s around.’ _

__ _ ‘Any cameras?’ _ Kobra keeps his head forward, doesn’t stutter his steps, does his best to look like he belongs here. It takes all of his concentration to pick Party’s thoughts out of the jumble in his brain.

_ ‘Yeah,’ _ Party sends.  _ ‘Can’t tell if there’s any blind spots or not, though. There’s one on the wall between the janitor’s closet and the door to the records room. If you can use your power without movin’ too much, ya might be able to knock it out so no one sees ya go in.’ _

__ _ ‘Good plan.’ _ Kobra follows Jet’s and Party’s directions, turning the corners he’s supposed to, and then he comes to a long stretch of hallway.

_ ‘This is it,’  _ Party sends.  _ ‘See the camera there?’ _

__ _ ‘Yeah. Gonna try to knock it out, hang on.’ _ Kobra’s rarely tried using his sound-based powers without gesturing, because it requires intense amounts of effort to do so. And since he’s still feeling off from using his power so much yesterday, he doesn’t even know if he  _ can _ do it now, but he’s gotta try, because that’s what’s safest.

As he walks, he keeps his hands at his sides, keeps his face pointed forward. He can just see the camera Party’s talking about out of the corner of his eye, the little blue light blinking. Carefully, making sure nothing changes with his outward appearance, he drops his mental shields, opening himself up to everyone on the streets and in the buildings nearby, and he concentrates.

The building around him is quiet, but there’s still an electronic humming coming from within the walls, as well as the sounds of his footsteps, his breathing. He focuses on these sounds, pictures them as shapes and colors in his mind, imagines them mixing together, getting bigger and bigger. He shapes them into a thin rope, and then into a spear, an arrow.

He’s almost up to the camera, almost in its field of vision but not quite. His feet no longer make any sound.

Kobra lets his breath out in a long, thin stream, and then he imagines the arrow of sound streaking through the air at the camera.

There’s a single sharp sound, and then the blue light on the camera falls dark.

He feels a rush of satisfaction as well as a sudden heavy feeling in his limbs.  _ Damn. _ Yeah, okay, at least all he has to do now is sit in a closet and pick out thoughts.

_ ‘Well I guess it worked, huh?’ _ Party thinks to him.  _ ‘You okay?’ _

__ _ ‘Yeah.’ _ Kobra takes a deep breath, relaxing his posture slightly in the absence of a camera. He finds the janitor’s closet easily, clearly marked, and steps inside. The light switch is just inside the door, and flicking it on, he finds a small, spotless white room with several shelves of cleaning products and supplies, a sink, a mop and bucket, and several brooms hanging neatly on the wall. 

It’s a typical janitor’s closet.

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, contemplating blocking the door with a broom or something before deciding it would be a bad idea. He moves into the room and turns a bucket upside down in the corner opposite the door. When he sits down on it, he’s partially hidden by the shelves on either side of him; hopefully, if someone comes by, they won’t notice him until he can knock them out or something.

He closes his eyes and pulls his mental shields up again, blocking out everyone not in the building, and he concentrates, searching until he finds Jet’s mind in the crowd.  _ ‘I’m in position,’ _ he sends.  _ ‘You doin’ okay?’ _

_ ‘Yeah.’ _ Jet’s reply is immediate.  _ ‘I’m almost to the security room. Haven’t run into anyone yet, which is...good? I guess?’ _

__ _ ‘Right.’ _ Kobra nods, even though Jet’s not there, and he hopes Party’s not watching, because nodding at no one is exactly the kind of thing they’d make fun of him for.

_ ‘Totally saw that, bro.’ _

__ _ ‘Shut the fuck up, I’m  _ working.’

_ ‘Yeah, yeah. Like I’m  _ not?  _ I’m gonna go check out the record room and scout around a bit.’ _

__ _ ‘Sure.’ _ Kobra turns his attention to Jet again.  _ ‘Lemme know if you need anything,’ _ he thinks. 

__ _ ‘Got it,’ _ Jet sends back, and then Kobra breaks the connection.

He listens to the thoughts of those around him. 

_ ‘--have to get the file sent off or my boss is gonna have my--’ _

__ _ ‘--show that actually our customers purchase more during the--’ _

__ _ ‘--Industries cares for its clients. Loyal clientele is earned through trust, which is why we--’ _

__ _ ‘--change the radio station, but the music station would be better right now--’ _

__ _ ‘--happy happy happy work work happy so happy work work work--’ _

__ He shakes his head, opening his eyes again. It’s no use; there’s just too many people in the building. How is he supposed to get the information he needs if he can’t sort through everyone?

_ ‘Party,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘How many people are in record-keeping?’ _

__ _ ‘’Bout twelve,’ _ they send back.

Twelve people. Kobra shouldn’t have any problem sorting through the thoughts of a measly twelve people. He’d just have to pull his mental shields in tighter.

Which would, of course, mean cutting himself off from the rest of the building...from Jet….

But if he can find out where the missing rebels are, and  _ quickly, _ then it’s worth it.

_ ‘Party,’ _ he sends.  _ ‘Need you to go check around, see if you can find info somewhere else, make sure everyone’s where they were last night.’ _

__ _ ‘Sure.’  _ Party agrees easily.

_ ‘Keep an eye on Jet, too. I gotta bring my walls in real close. Won’t be able to talk to him.’ _

__ _ ‘...You sure ‘bout this, Kobes?’ _

__ _ ‘I’m sure.’ _

__ _ ‘...Alright. Be careful.’ _

__ _ ‘I will.’ _

Kobra sends the same message to Jet; warns him about the lack of communication, asks him to be careful. After he gets an affirmative response, he pulls his walls in close and focuses on the minds of those in the room across the hall.

 

\----------

 

Jet hasn’t seen anyone at all since he entered the building. It’s weird,  _ definitely _ weird, because when he lived here, there were always people in the halls, scurrying from place to place to fulfill their duties. That can’t have changed in the single  _ month _ he’d been gone, right?

So where  _ is _ everyone?

The uneasy feeling only increases as he nears the security room. 

Kobra had told him that he wouldn’t be able to get in touch with him for a while, which means that Jet’s basically alone. He’s as alone as he ever was when he worked here, except moreso, because  _ where is everyone? _

And there’s the security room, there. He reaches for the handle, and the door opens easily, and it’s only as he’s stepping into the room that he thinks,  _ wait, shouldn’t the door have been locked? _

__ “There you are, Jet Star,” says a voice Jet knows well, and his blood runs cold. He takes a step back, tries to run, but someone grabs him, and he hears the door shut, hears the  _ click _ of a lock, and then feels cold metal against his wrists.

Agent Collier stands before him, several other people in various positions around the room. He recognizes Agent Volt Wave and Agent Korse, Agent Apparition standing farther back, and there are three other people he  _ doesn’t _ recognize, all wearing BL/ind-white.

“We were hoping you’d show up soon,” Collier says, smirking. “We have a lot to discuss.”

 

\----------

 

Ghoul’s still sitting at the table with  _ his goddamn father _ when an alarm starts going off. 

It’s not a particularly  _ loud _ alarm, more of a faint buzzing, but it’s clearly an alarm. He looks questioningly at his father, who’s suddenly sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

“What is it?” he asks, pushing back his own chair to stand up. He looks around the room, unsure of what he should be looking for, what he needs to do, who he needs to  _ fight. _

“There’s someone in the house,” his father says. He stands too, reaches into a hidden pocket inside his jacket and pulls out a bracelet, the kind Ghoul’s stolen from tons of BL/ind agents in the past, the kind that projects a little blue screen into the air above it. “It isn’t Anna, or the girl, or any of the other rebels--not unless they’ve forgotten their bracelets.”

There are words flickering across the screen, and numbers, and Ghoul has no idea what any of it means. “What’s that say?” he asks. He looks over at the stairs, tries to listen in case there are footsteps, but even if he  _ could _ hear something from down here, he can’t hear anything over the constant buzzing of the alarm.

“It’s the information from our security devices,” his father says, tilting the screen toward Ghoul. 

Ghoul glances at it, shrugs, and moves toward the stairs, still trying to hear. “What’s it say?” he asks again. “And can you turn that alarm off? It’s--” the drone is starting to bother him, building his anxiety up and up and  _ up, _ and he really doesn’t need that now.

“Oh, yes, hold on.” He must do something with that screen of his, because suddenly the buzzing stops, and Ghoul can breathe easier now. He still can’t hear anything from upstairs, which might be good, or it might be bad. Or it might mean nothing. He isn’t sure. He hopes it’s good.

“It says there’s five people on the premises,” his father continues. “I don’t know why they’re here, or what they’re doing, but they shouldn’t be able to find the entrance to the basement, and there’s no one upstairs. As long as we stay down here, we should be fine.”

That’s good, at least. Ghoul’s not exactly happy about being stuck down here with  _ five _ fucking intruders just above his head, especially without Kobra to help him fight. He steps away from the stairs, glances down at the girl’s stuffed cat, still lying on the floor where she’d tossed it earlier. He bends down and picks it up, looks it over. He’d had something similar, as a kid. Spur, the old man he’d lived with when he was nine, had given it to him. It had looked just like this, except gray instead of black.

Just to be safe, he closes his eyes and thinks of Kobra.  _ ‘There’s people upstairs. We should be okay though. Just lettin’ ya know.’ _

He doesn’t get a reply.  _ Why won’t Kobra reply? _

He sets the cat down again, looks at his father, who’s still staring at the screen in front of him. There’s movement on the screen now, video instead of text.

_ “Shit!” _ His father jumps suddenly, rushing to the bookshelf. “They’re moving the sofa,” he calls. “They  _ know.” _

A chill goes down Ghoul’s spine. “They  _ what?”  _ he hisses. He looks up the stairs again, at where he knows the hatch is. They  _ can’t _ know, can they? Seriously?  _ ‘Kobra!’ _

Still nothing. What the hell is going  _ on?  _ Kobra’s not that far away, right? He’s still within range?

“We have to  _ go!” _ his father sounds urgent. Ghoul’s heart is racing. Kobra’s not here. Kobra’s not  _ answering. _ What does he do?

What does he  _ do? _

“Take Party,” he says. There’s a thin line of light in the dark section of ceiling he’s watching now. They’ve peeled up the carpet. He feels cold, he feels hot, he has to fight but how can he  _ fight _ by  _ himself? _

“We have to  _ go!” _

“Take Party!” Ghoul yells. He doesn’t turn, just keeps staring at the line of light, getting longer and longer and slowly forming a rectangle in the ceiling. “And  _ go! _ I’ll hold them back!”

“I’m not leaving without--”

“Take them! Take them and go, or we’re  _ all _ fucked!”

His father swears, loudly, and Ghoul hears his footsteps as he races across the room and slams the bedroom door open. Good. As long as his father gets Party out, everything will be fine.

There’s a creaking sound, and the light gets bigger, brighter, as the hatch swings open. Footsteps behind him, slower and heavier now. Someone starts down the stairs, heading for him, and Ghoul opens his mouth to scream, but something hits him in the head, and everything goes dark, and the last thing he’s aware of is his father’s own shout.

 

\----------

 

Jet’s surrounded. Two exterminators, two superheroes, three unknowns--clearly BL/ind agents, but two of them are standing too far away, the room lit only dimly by the light of the monitors on the wall to his right, for him to clearly see the emblems on their uniforms, and the third is behind him, holding tightly to his arm, and he doesn’t dare tear his eyes away from the woman standing in front of him.

His adrenaline spiked the moment he realized who was in here with him, so he doesn’t have to try and force it himself; he simply thinks,  _ ‘Something bad needs to happen, now,’ _ and lets his power do its work.

Only nothing happens.

No explosions, no sudden deaths, no corrosion, no  _ lightning bolts, _ nothing. 

He tries again, closes his eyes this time. Concentrates,  _ focuses, _ just like he’s been learning to do out in the desert for the past month.  _ ‘Something bad needs to happen,  _ now!’

Again, nothing.

Agent Collier laughs, and he opens his eyes to find her stepping closer to him, grinning widely. “You think we’d let you get all the way here and  _ not _ have power suppressors calibrated for you, Jet Star? Have you really grown so stupid out there among the savages?”

He pulls at the metal on his wrists. They don’t budge.  _ Of course. _ He should have known this was all too easy, should have known he’d walk into a  _ trap. _ His insides are a turmoil of nerves and fear. Without his power, this- _ -he’s-- _

Useless.

“Now,” Collier continues, reaching forward and grabbing his chin in one hand, pulling his face closer to hers and staring into his eyes with a wicked grin, “you’ve made the Director  _ very _ upset, Jet Star.” She runs her thumb over the strip of skin beneath his lower lip, digs her nails into the soft flesh there hard enough that he has to fight not to flinch, not to cry out. “So, are you going to willingly submit to re-education?”

He swallows, forces himself to keep his gaze steady on hers, doesn’t let himself look away, not even for a moment. “Never,” he says, quieter than he means to.

She laughs again, releases her grip on his chin with a toss of her hand. “Then you’ll have to do it  _ un _ willingly. You know you don’t have a choice.”

He takes a breath, remembers why he came here, who he came here  _ with. _ Kobra might not be able to hear him right now, but there’s a chance Party’s here, watching him. Jet stands up as straight as he can with the BL/ind agent gripping his arms behind him, and looks her in the eye again. “I’ll fight you every step of the way,” he tells her, and his voice is louder, steadier. He holds his head high. “You don’t control me anymore.”

Instead of being angry at his insubordination, like he’d thought she’d be, she just snorts at him, lips quirked up in a smirk. “Do you know what happened the last time you were re-educated, Jet?”

He freezes. Of  _ course _ he doesn’t know what happened, she  _ knows _ that. Knows that he has no memory of that time, knows that no one would  _ tell _ him what happened. What he did.

Her smirk grows, and she steps away from him, looking over her shoulder at the others behind her. “Agent Korse,” she says, “would you do the honors?”

Korse sighs, pulling something up on his bracelet. “I don’t see why we have to  _ tell _ him about it,” he says. “He’s going to be under re-education for the rest of his life, it isn’t like he’ll be able to  _ remember _ it.” He hits a button on his wrist, and the screen hovering over his wrist disappears as all of the monitors on the wall light up, displaying BL/ind’s logo. “This is a waste of time and resources!”

“The Director put  _ me _ in charge of his capture and re-education,  _ Agent Korse,  _ and I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” Collier snarls. She gestures at Jet, and the person holding onto him shoves him forward and into the chair in front of the monitors. He tries to stand, tries to  _ run, _ doesn’t want to  _ know, _ but Volt Wave sends a burst of electricity at him, and his whole body feels like it’s  _ buzzing _ in the worst way possible.

He can’t help but cry out this time, a harsh, choked sound.

“Don’t try to run, Jet Star,” Collier says, and the buzzing stops. Another of the unknown people comes forward, and they strap him into the chair, his hands still tied behind his back. Power suppressors on his wrists, straps tight around him. A screen lit up in front of him.

Are they going to re-educate him  _ here? _

“Watch the screen, Jet Star,” Collier says, and there’s another strap now, wrapped around his throat, tight but not so tight he can’t breath, and then a second strap, around his forehead. Holding him in place so he can’t look away from the screen.

The BL/ind logo disappears, and he finds himself face-to-face with three dozen copies of himself.

Some of them are filmed from different angles, but most of the monitors, including the one he’s most focused on, show him from the front, staring directly into the camera. His head is held high, his mouth is set in a firm line. His eyes are wide, blank.

The perfect soldier.

_ “What are my orders?” _ he hears himself ask.

_ “You will obey Exterminator Korse for the time being,” _ another voice answers. The Jet Star on the screen gives a quick, concise nod.

“Skip ahead, he doesn’t need to see these parts,” Collier says. “Show him the arrests.”

The Jet Stars on the screen disappear, replaced for a moment by the smiling BL/ind logo, and then he sees himself on the city streets, rushing at a group of citizens.

He watches as the Jet Star on the screen grabs someone by the arm, yanks them away from the others with a sharp motion, twists their arm behind their back. 

_ “You’re in violation of Better Living Industries’ Peaceful City Code 17-E,” _ Jet Star says, voice void of emotion. “Citizens shall not loiter in groups of four or more unless a permit is obtained.”

Two of the citizens charge at him.  _ “Let her  _ go!” he hears one of them shout.

Jet Star grabs one of them by the throat with his free hand, and Jet flinches.

_ “You’re all in violation of City Code 17-E,” _ Jet Star says. He squeezes the person’s throat, stares down at the others, who’ve frozen in place.  _ “Better Living Industries puts these laws in place to protect the citizens of Battery City,” _ he says.  _ “You’re all under arrest, for the good of the city.” _

The woman in his grip kicks at him, and in response, he twists her arm harder. There’s an audible  _ pop, _ and the woman screams, and Jet feels lightheaded, sick.

“Next,” Collier says, and oh god, there’s  _ more. _

The BL/ind logo appears for just a second, and then it’s replaced by Jet Star again, this time holding a child in one arm.

_ A child. _

There’s a woman screaming in the background, but Jet Star’s smiling, holding the child aloft by the collar of their shirt, and, oh  _ god. _

Jet squeezes his eyes shut, can’t block out the woman’s screams, doesn’t know what’s happening, what he’d  _ done, _ doesn’t  _ want _ to know, he’s never wanted to hurt  _ anyone--! _

A bolt of electricity shoots up his spine, and his eyes shoot open, his back arches away from the chair, the straps holding him in place and digging into his flesh, the strap around his throat so tight he can’t breathe. He bites his tongue,  _ hard, _ won’t cry out again, can’t give them the  _ satisfaction--! _

The electricity stops as soon as it’s begun, and he falls back against the chair, panting. 

“Keep your eyes open,” Korse says from behind him. “It’s getting good now.”

On-screen, Jet Star walks calmly through the halls of BL/ind HQ, dragging two people behind him. 

Their eyes are blackened, their mouths and noses bloody. They don’t struggle against his hold. Oh, god. Did  _ he _ do that? Did he--to  _ them? _

As he watches, Jet Star drops one of them in the hallway, continues dragging the other person into a re-education room. How many times had he done this? How many times had he  _ beaten _ people and then strapped them into the re-education chair  _ himself? _

No wonder people on the streets were always terrified of him.

“Oh,” Apparition says, voice light,  _ excited _ . “Here’s the best part.”

The BL/ind logo appears again, and when it disappears, Jet Star is standing in the desert.

Jet blinks. He looks at the other screens, and finds that most of them don’t, actually, show images of him; most of them show ramshackle buildings, tents of colorful fabric, people wearing brightly-colored clothes and helmets splashed with paint. 

It’s a rebel stronghold.

Why is he at a  _ rebel stronghold? _ Oh, god. What had he  _ done? _

_ “Activate Worst Case Scenario,” _ Korse’s voice comes from the speakers, and Jet’s blood runs cold.

_ No. _ Of course. Of  _ course _ they’d have used his power while he was under their control, of  _ course _ they did, he’s always known they  _ must _ have, but he’s never known when, or where, or  _ how, _ never  _ wanted _ to know those things, but now he’s going to watch as he--

On screen, Jet Star grins widely. He raises one hand and squeezes it into a fist.

The screens all darken as black clouds roll in. Lightning flashes, thunder rolls. Jet Star squeezes his hand into a fist again; three of the screens turn to static, replaced a moment later by the BL/ind logo, and on the other screen, he can see buildings collapsing, people running.

His heart is pounding. “No,” he whispers.

“Keep watching, Jet Star.” Collier’s voice beside him,  _ gleeful. _

A bolt of lightning strikes a building, pieces of it exploding outward, flaming chunks of wood raining down on the fleeing rebels, flames spreading rapidly. Screams erupt from the speakers.

Jet Star starts to walk further into the stronghold. Every step he takes, disasters follow him. Windows breaking, lightning striking, sinkholes opening up in the ground. Another building collapses, and he sees people disappear beneath the debris. 

“No,” he says again, louder.  _ “No!” _

“Quiet, Jet Star,” Collier says. “It’s not over yet.”

More and more of the screens are going blank, only to be replaced with the BL/ind logo. A meteorite comes down from the sky and smashes through one building. Someone runs at him, fires on him with a ray gun, but Jet Star only raises one hand, and the rebel drops to the ground, clutching at their throat. 

Dead.

Screaming, running, blood, fire, rain, lightning,  _ blood, _ death, so much  _ death _ and  _ destruction, _ and it’s all caused by him, it’s all  _ his _ fault,  _ he _ did that, him, Jet Star,  _ Jet _ did this.

A girl runs past the only remaining camera, and Jet’s horror only increases when he finds that he  _ recognizes _ her.

Mad Rabbit. The girl who accused him of--of  _ this. _ He knew it. He  _ knew _ he’d done something, but Party had-- and then they’d-- and-- and Kobra had said--

They should have let her attack him. Should have let her done whatever she wanted to him, because this- _ -he did this- _ -

Collier starts laughing, and he’s so light-headed, so  _ horrified _ by what he’s done, and--

“You see, Jet Star?” she says. “This is what you’re like under the effects of re-education.  _ Unstoppable. _ This is what you’ll be like from now on. With you under the complete control of BL/ind--” Collier puts her hand on his shoulder, “--we’ll wipe out every single rebel in that godforsaken desert.”

And that’s when it hits him. That person on the screen--the BL/ind superhero without a conscience, the man who unleashes his power, kills without a second thought--that isn’t  _ him. _ That’s BL/ind, that’s the person they want him to be, but it’s not  _ who he is. _

Jet would never hurt an innocent person, not if he could help it. He would never kill, he’d never do  _ any _ of the things he’s just watched himself do.

That’s all BL/ind. That’s what they  _ forced _ him to do. Turned him into a ruthless, emotionless killing machine, and that can’t- _ -won’t- _ -happen again.

He can feel all his horror and fear and absolute  _ disgust _ melding together inside him, growing hotter and hotter, forming into what he can only describe as a ball of pure  _ rage _ in his gut. He feels hot,  _ so _ hot, so  _ angry, _ and he grits his teeth, he clenches his fist, and he hisses out, “I will  _ never _ be what BL/ind wants me to be.”

And the room explodes around him.

Someone screams. The monitors on the wall in front of him are on fire, there’s a hole in one wall, the lights are flickering and bits of the ceiling are falling down around them. Jet stands up, his hands clenched at his sides, the power suppressors falling uselessly to the floor.

He turns, limbs shaking, his chest and head and entire  _ body _ so full of  _ righteous anger _ he can’t quite hold it. He doesn’t  _ need _ to hold it, he realizes. These people caused every death he just witnessed, were complacent in or actively  _ encouraged _ these deaths, along with dozens- _ -hundreds- _ -more. 

He doesn’t need to hold back his anger; he needs to  _ use _ it. 

Jet raises his arm, glares at Collier. He catches the shocked look on her face, the  _ fear, _ and he  _ revels _ in it. She  _ should _ be scared. 

She  _ deserves _ this.

He thinks about that rebel he killed, who was trying to defend themself. Remembers their death. He squeezes his fist.

Collier falls to the ground, clutching at her throat and choking. 

Volt Wave comes at him, hands sparking with electricity. Jet steps out of the way, imagines something crushing him, extinguishing his sparks. He squeezes his hand into a fist.

There’s a groaning sound above him, metal scraping against metal, the lights blinking off and on, and a panel falls from the ceiling, crushing Volt Wave to the floor. His sparks fizzle out.

A bolt from a ray gun flies past his face, narrowly missing him. He turns in the direction it came from, sees Korse. Korse fires again; Jet squeezes his fist, nails digging into his palm, and the ray gun explodes in his hand.

Korse lets out a hoarse cry, clutching his bloodied and burned hand. It’s not enough; Jet steps forward, grabs a fistful of Korse’s shirt and yanks him forward.

“You’re a monster,” Jet tells him, his voice coming out in a low hiss. 

Korse scrabbles to get a grip on Jet’s hands, struggles to free himself, but Jet doesn’t let go. He thinks about that child, has no idea what happened to them. He raises his arm, muscles straining, and lifts Korse into the air.

One of the unknown agents races at him, raising their arms to fight him. Jet throws Korse at them, and they both crash into the walls monitors, sending chunks of flaming and melting electronics falling around them. 

Jet jumps back, barely avoiding setting himself on fire, and stumbles into someone. He spins around, arm outstretched, to find another unknown.

“Please,” the agent squeaks out. “Don’t hurt me! I--I didn’t have anything to do with this, I never  _ wanted _ to be a BL/ind agent!”

Jet freezes, looking the agent over. Small, with blond hair in a buzz-cut. He looks young. Unbearably young--a teenager.

An innocent.

Some of the anger in his gut fades a little, only to flare up, hotter than before. How many people like this teenager, this  _ child- _ -how many people like  _ him, _ like  _ Jet, _ has BL/ind taken? Murder, brainwashing, forced employment--what’s the difference? These are people’s  _ lives _ BL/ind is stealing, one way or another.

He turns away from the teenager to face the only other person in the room he  _ knows _ to be a guilty party: Apparition.

“Don’t do it, Jet Star,” she says, taking a step back. “You’ll regret it.”

“You helped them,” he says, taking a step closer. “You  _ tortured _ me with your illusions. How many other people did you do that to?” He takes another step, raises his arm. The lights around them go dark, the only light that of the flickering flames.

Something hits him in the side, a sharp pain, and he staggers to the side, flames singeing his arm. He whirls around, sees the teenager there, holding a jagged piece of metal. The teenager grins at him, teeth shining bright and orange.

“Everyone’s weak for a sweet face,” he says, and launches himself at him.

And, of course. Jet can’t trust anyone in BL/ind, can’t trust his own eyes, his own ears, his own  _ mind. _ He dodges his next blow, raises both arms and makes two fists.

Shards of broken glass and metal fall from the ceiling, impaling Apparition and the agent both, blood painting their BL/ind-white uniforms.

Apparition falls first, her superhero jacket soaked in red in seconds. She laughs, choking and gurgling, and things around Jet start to flicker in his vision, flickering in a way that has nothing to do with the flames around him. Apparition’s illusions dissipating with her death, he realizes. A door appears where previously there had been none, standing open; Korse, barely visible in the shifting light of the flames, changes, his face becoming someone else’s; the teenage BL/ind agent falls forward, red hair fluttering around his face, and--hold on.

Hadn’t his hair been short and blond?

But, no, it’s red. Red hair, cherry red,  _ blood _ red, red like the  _ palms of his hands, _ red like  _ poison red…. _

His heart stops beating. Everything freezes around him, slowing down, his vision narrowing to one spot, as the person he’s just  _ stabbed through the chest _ falls forward, into his arms, his- _ -their- _ -head falling back, and he meets Party Poison’s gaze.

No. No, no, no, no, “No, no,  _ no!” _ He holds Party, looking into their eyes as they cough, once, and a thin line of blood trickles from their mouth.

“No!” he cries, lowering Party to the ground, as softly as he can, kneeling beside them. No, this can’t be happening, how could  _ Party _ be here, how could he have  _ killed Party _ \--

It’s an illusion. It  _ must _ be an illusion, Apparition’s here, she must be trying to trick him, trick him like when she made him believe he’d killed his father, all he has to do is concentrate, will the illusion away, but he can’t, he can’t focus, he can’t  _ break the illusion, _ the illusion’s not lifting because  _ this isn’t the illusion,  _ Apparition’s dead and with her death her illusions have lifted.

What else can it  _ be? _ Why else would he still be looking at  _ Party, _ dying in his  _ arms? _

__ Party coughs again, more blood pouring out the corner of their mouth. The blood looks black, in the dark. Shines in the light of the flames. “Jet S--” they cut themself off with a rattling breath.

“Shh.” Jet keeps his voice as calm and soft as he can. His words still come out shakily. “Party, I’m--I’m so sorry, I didn’t--I didn’t  _ know--” _

Party shakes their head, weakly. They reach up, reach toward him, but they’re too weak, fading too fast. Their hand drops back onto their chest.

“Party,” he says again, and there are tears in his eyes, making his vision warp and waver. He blinks them away, bends down, kisses their forehead. “Don’t die,” he mumbles into their skin. “Don’t die, Party,  _ please _ don’t die, I love--you don’t  _ deserve- _ -”

“Jet,” they whisper, too quiet,  _ far _ too quiet. “Not your--fault….”

The flames are hot at his back, there’s still debris falling around him, but all Jet cares about is Party. Party, the first person to believe in him. Party, the first person to  _ trust _ him. Party, who is his friend, Party, who  _ loves _ him, Party, the first person he ever fell in love with, Party, who  _ doesn’t deserve to die. _

He tries to remember some first aid, tries to remember how to combat  _ fatal chest and stomach wounds, _ but his thoughts are too scattered, he can’t focus, he can’t  _ concentrate, _ Party’s slipping away too quickly, their eyes losing focus, their eyelids slipping shut, and no, no, no, no,  _ “No!” _

And then Party Poison’s heart stops beating.

 

\----------

 

Kobra’s not quite sure how long he’s seated inside the janitor’s closet before he feels he’s gotten all the information he needs. His legs are a little stiff when he stands up, but that’s okay. He knows where they keep the records for re-educated rebels, knows how to get there and how to get in. It’s perfect; his mission’s been a success.

Carefully, slowly, he lowers his mental walls, letting in more and more of the building as he does so. He doesn’t concentrate on anyone, just lets thoughts slip through his head until he’s once again open to the whole building, but  _ only _ the building.

He needs to check with Jet, make sure everything’s going according to plan.

_ ‘Jet,’ _ he thinks, trying to pinpoint Jet’s mind in the building.  _ ‘Jet.’ _

A wave of hurt and anger and sorrow and  _ grief _ washes over him, and he gasps aloud, staggering back a step. That’s  _ Jet, _ those are  _ Jet’s _ emotions.  _ ‘Jet,’ _ he thinks, pushing past those feelings,  _ ‘Jet, what’s happened?’ _

_ ‘I killed them.’ _ A flash of red, a glimpse of blood.

_ ‘Who?’ _ Kobra thinks, fighting back his panic.  _ ‘Jet,  _ who did you kill?’

__ _ ‘Party. I--I killed them. Kobra. They’re dead.’ _

__ And, no. That can’t be right, Party’s not even  _ here, _ not physically, Jet must be wrong, somehow. He can’t have  _ killed Party. _

Heart pounding, Kobra frantically casts out, searching for Party’s mind, trying to figure out where they are, trying to locate their spirit.  _ ‘Party,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘Party, Party, where  _ are  _ you?’ _

There’s no response. Kobra feels faint; he sits back down. Party  _ can’t _ be dead. They were with Ghoul, back at the safehouse, they--

Ghoul.

Kobra releases his mental walls, the entire city flooding his thoughts, but he shoves them all aside, focuses,  _ reaches _ .

__ _ ‘Ghoul,’ _ he thinks, hands shaking.  _ ‘Ghoul, please, fuckin’--Ghoul!  _ Answer me!’

No response. 

There’s no response, because Party’s dead, because  _ Ghoul’s dead, _ he doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know  _ why,  _ or  _ when, _ but they’re dead, they’re  _ dead, _ they’re gone, his sibling’s dead,  _ Ghoul _ is  _ dead. _

They’re dead.

_ ‘I’m sorry,’ _ Jet thinks, and Kobra can barely read his thoughts through all the sorrow clouding Jet’s mind, _ ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ _

They’re dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next week is the final chapter. the week after will be the epilogue.
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter (or not), please feel free to leave kudos or a comment! i'd love to know your thoughts!
> 
> http://enby-partypoison.tumblr.com/ask


	25. If Heaven Wants to Take Us They Can Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything meets its end eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 33! ✨
> 
> GINORMOUS thank you to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading and for all the support and encouragement!! and ART from last week's chapter (link in the end notes)!
> 
> this is the FINAL CHAPTER! please enjoy the thrilling conclusion!!
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: Blood, broken/dislocated bones, fire/burns, death.

Kobra feels numb.

He’s sitting in the middle of the janitor’s closet, where anyone who happens to open the door can see him. He doesn’t have the energy, the  _ ability _ to move, and anyway, what does it matter if he’s discovered now? Party’s dead. Ghoul’s dead. The two most important people in his  _ life _ are dead.

So, really, what does it matter if he dies, too? What does it matter if BL/ind finds him, and turns him into a weapon like they did to Jet? What does it matter if they find him, capture him,  _ torture _ him,  _ kill him? _

Nothing matters if they’re dead.

Kobra’s head is filled with voices, so many he should be dizzy from it, but for the first time in his life, for the first time since his power presented, he doesn’t hear any of them.

He has no idea how long he’s been sitting here in a daze. Hours, maybe. Seconds? He isn’t sure. It doesn’t matter, anyway. 

Nothing matters.

Jet hasn’t said anything to him since he told him he killed Party. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t, anyway; maybe he’s trying to contact Kobra and Kobra just doesn’t know it, because he can’t hear anything accept Ghoul’s voice, nothing except Party’s voice, can’t stop himself from playing over and over again their last words to him,  _ his _ last words to  _ them. _

__ _ ‘Be careful,’ _ Party had said to him.  _ ‘I will,’ _ he’d replied, never dreaming that maybe he should wish the same to Party, because Party was intangible, because Party’s body was  _ safe _ in the  _ safehouse _ (and isn’t that some fucking irony), and why the hell would Party even have  _ needed _ to be careful?

And, god. Ghoul.  _ “Don’t have too much fun without me,”  _ he’d said, and Kobra knew--he fucking  _ knew, _ of  _ course _ he knew--what Ghoul was really saying, but he’d just replied with  _ “Could never.” _ Why didn’t he tell Ghoul he loved him? If he’d known--if he’d  _ known-- _

If he’d known, he wouldn’t have left. If he hadn’t left, he could have protected Ghoul, helped him fight against the BL/ind agents or whoever the hell got in--whoever  _ killed-- _

Someone killed Ghoul. BL/ind  _ killed _ Ghoul, and BL/ind killed Party--it wasn’t Jet, it doesn’t matter if Jet was the one who physically struck the blow, because Jet wouldn’t kill Party--could  _ never _ kill Party, could never kill anyone except those who undoubtedly deserve it. 

Ghoul and Party are dead. An entire stronghold is dead. Countless rebels, countless  _ people _ are dead because of BL/ind. Because BL/ind only cares about money, about fucking  _ carbons, _ thinks it can control everyone and everything to get what it wants.

BL/ind killed Party. BL/ind killed Ghoul. Kobra’s going to kill BL/ind, going to destroy everyone in this goddamn building, everyone who’s ever hurt anyone for their own selfish reasons.

Kobra gets to his feet, shaky and angry and so fucking  _ sad.  _ It’s like all of his emotions have been lurking in the back of his mind, and now that he’s moving, now that he wants to  _ do _ something, they’re flooding him, worse than the city full of thoughts all around him.

He falls to his knees, catches himself on his hands. He can’t see. He can’t fucking  _ see, _ because suddenly his eyes are full of tears and his chest is full of anger and sadness and  _ grief _ and he thinks he’s going to explode, thinks his emotions are going to tear him apart from the inside because his sibling is  _ dead, _ and his boyfriend, his partner, the love of his fucking  _ life _ is  _ dead, _ and he can’t hold it all in anymore! He can’t--he can’t fucking--!

He clutches his head and presses his forehead against the floor and sobs into the pristine white tile beneath him. __

 

\----------

 

When Ghoul wakes up, head throbbing, he finds himself strapped to a chair. There’s no color in the room he’s in, the walls and floor and ceiling all entirely white. Even the light is white, fluorescent strips in the ceiling making everything that much brighter.

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his headache away. It doesn’t work, of course, but at least he can block most of the light out. His thoughts are scattered and fuzzy, he can’t remember why he’s here, where  _ here _ is.

Okay. He wouldn’t be strapped in a chair by choice, which means he’s been captured by BL/ind.  _ Fuck. _ Ghoul tests the strength of the straps, straining against them, but they don’t budge. Cool. How the hell does he get out of here, then? 

How long has he  _ been _ here? Where are the others he was with?

Who  _ was _ he with? Fuck, thinking is too hard. If he goes back to sleep, maybe when he wakes up he’ll be able to think more clearly….

_ No. _ Ghoul shakes his head, opens his eyes even though the bright light hurts. He can’t sleep, he has to figure this out.

Party. He was with Party, and with...his father. Fuck. Where are they? Did BL/ind get them, too? 

This is a re-education room, right? How does he get out? Have they already started brainwashing him? Is  _ that _ why he’s having trouble remembering things? Are they gonna turn him into a mindless slave, like those people he saw on the streets, like the people Jet and Strawberry were talking about? 

He pulls at the straps again, feeling terror surge up in him, but they still don’t budge. Kobra. He needs Kobra. Did they get Kobra, too?!

_ ‘Kobra,’ _ he thinks, sending the thought out as hard as he can. Where’s Kobra? Is he close enough that he can hear Ghoul’s thoughts? If BL/ind’s got him, can he even hear  _ anyone’s _ thoughts?  _ ‘Kobra!’ _ he thinks again more frantically.

_ ‘Ghoul?’ _

The thought is quiet, almost  _ timid, _ and brings with it what Ghoul can only describe as  _ grief. _ Why is Kobra  _ grieving? _ What the hell is  _ happening? _

_ ‘Kobra, thank fuck,’ _ he thinks back.  _ ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong? Where are you?’ _

_ ‘Ghoul. Ghoul, is it--is it really  _ you?’

_ ‘Of course it’s me, what the fuck Kobes? You’re freakin’ me out. What the hell is goin’ on?’ _

_ ‘It’s not you,’ _ Kobra sends, and his thoughts are still tinged with grief, and fear, and  _ anger _ .  _ ‘You’re not  _ here.’

And this is goddamn  _ weird, _ because Kobra’s never fuckin’  _ doubted _ him before, not when they’re talking mind-to-mind like this.  _ ‘I’m  _ here, _ Kobes, I don’t know  _ where _ I am but we’re definitely talkin’. _

_ ‘You’re not--you’re not  _ real,’ Kobra thinks, more angry than anything else now.  _ ‘You’re  _ dead!’

_ ‘Fuckin’ news to me, then,’ _ Ghoul thinks back, growing increasingly freaked out by all this.  _ ‘If that’s the case then either heaven sucks or hell is boring, ‘cause I’m just like, strapped to a chair in a tiny room and I kinda expected better from both places.’ _

__ There’s a pause, and Ghoul takes the opportunity to look down at himself, avoiding thinking too hard about Kobra’s frankly baffling comments. He’s still wearing his Batt disguise, white jacket and pants the same he’d put on this morning. Party had come back with their rebel clothes on, he remembers, so it’s not really a surprise that they haven’t changed his clothes. Still. 

_ ‘You’re in a re-education room?’ _ Kobra sends after a few moments, his thoughts completely and carefully, purposely, Ghoul knows, void of emotion.

_ ‘Think so,’ _ Ghoul sends back. He looks at the wall in front of him, blank aside from a thin rectangular panel, barely visible. He sends this image to Kobra, along with the image of himself, what he can see of his torso and legs, straps keeping him in place.

_ ‘You’re actually--you’re really--!’ _ There’s a sudden explosion of thoughts and feelings in Ghoul’s mind, hope and  _ joy _ being the most prominent.  _ ‘Ghoul, oh my god, I thought you were--we thought you’d--’ _ _  
_ __ _ ‘Kobra, why the hell did you think I was  _ dead?  _ How long have I been out?’ _

__ _ ‘It’s--I don’t know how long you’ve been out, but I--we realized--I lost contact with you--’  _ a pause,  _ ‘--about half an hour ago, and Jet--’ _ grief, horror, sadness.

_ ‘Kobes, is Jet okay?’ _

__ _ ‘Jet--he’s. He’s okay.’ _ Emotions gone again, carefully scrubbed away from Kobra’s thoughts.  _ ‘Ghoul. What happened?’ _

__ His conversation with Kobra, though confusing, has at least made it easier for him to think, to focus.  _ ‘BL/ind sent someone,’ _ he thinks to Kobra.  _ ‘They knew about the basement, I dunno  _ how, _ but they broke in and came down. They...I guess they hit me with somethin’ an’ knocked me out. I don’t...my dad, he was tryin’ to escape, and Party--I don’t know what happened to ‘em!’ _

_ ‘You don’t know what happened to Party….’ _ Kobra’s thoughts are tinged with sadness again.  _ ‘Fuck. I thought--I’d  _ hoped--’

_ ‘Kobra. What’s wrong?’ _

_ ‘Jet. He says--he  _ thinks- _ -he killed Party.’ _

Ghoul freezes, his whole body going rigid. Jet...why would Jet kill Party? How could Party--how could they be  _ dead? _ That doesn’t make sense.  _ Why _ would they be dead? Why would they kill Party and not  _ him? _ Why would  _ Jet _ kill  _ Party?!  _

__ Before he can send his thoughts back to Kobra, there’s a  _ whoosh _ sound, and the click of someone’s heels across the floor.

“Fun Ghoul,” the person--a BL/ind agent, dressed in a white lab coat, her long brown hair pulled back by a black headband--says. “Or, I suppose I should address you as Dante Gallo. We here at Better Living Industries have been looking for you for a long time, Mr. Gallo. We have a job offer for you.”

Ghoul doesn’t say anything. Instead, he thinks to Kobra,  _ ‘There’s no way Party’s dead, Kobes.’ _ He doesn’t know if it’s true, but he definitely knows that  _ Party can’t be dead, _ and  _ Jet couldn’t have killed them. _

_ ‘I’m comin’ for you, Ghoul,’ _ Kobra thinks to him.  _ ‘I’m gonna get you out, okay? And then we’ll get the rest of the rebels, and we’ll--we’ll find Party, if they’re…. We’ll find Party, and we’ll get out of here.’ _

_ ‘Okay, Kobes. See ya soon.’ _

The woman steps closer to Ghoul, frowning. He doesn’t look at her. He’s  _ terrified. _ He trusts Kobra--knows Kobra will do whatever he can to get him out--but this is  _ BL/ind. _ This is their  _ headquarters. _ He doesn’t know what they can do here. He doesn’t know what’ll happen if they try to re-educate him, doesn’t know if Kobra can get here in time, or if he’ll get here  _ at all, _ or if  _ Party’s alive, _ or if his dad’s alive, if Jet’s okay; he doesn’t know  _ anything, _ and he’s alone and he’s  _ terrified. _

“If you’re unsure about taking our job offer,” the woman says, lifting one hand and pressing something on her wrist, “then I’ll just leave some of Better Living Industries’ promotional materials here for you.” 

The rectangular panel Ghoul had noticed before lights up, displaying the BL/ind logo. He has no idea what he’s about to watch, what it’s going to do to him.  _ ‘Kobra,’ _ he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut.  _ ‘Be careful.’ _

__ _ ‘Can’t afford to be careful anymore, Ghoul,’ _ Kobra sends back.  _ ‘It’s time to fuck shit up.’ _

And even though Ghoul’s terrified out of his goddamn mind, he can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him.  _ ‘My one true love,’ _ he thinks.

_ ‘Your fetish,’ _ Kobra corrects, and his thoughts feel lighter than before.  _ ‘I love you.’ _

Ghoul grins to himself as they begin the process of re-education. 

If they go down, they’re goin’ down swingin’.  _ ‘I love you, too,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘Kick some ass, Kobes.’ _

 

\----------

 

Ghoul’s not dead.

_ Ghoul’s not dead. _

That’s the thought that keeps going around and around in Kobra’s head as he bursts out of the janitor’s closet and bolts down the hall. Ghoul’s not dead, and if Ghoul’s not dead, then maybe  _ no one’s dead,  _ and they can all get back to the desert.

He’s so stupid. The reason he couldn’t hear Ghoul’s thoughts is because  _ Ghoul was unconscious. _ Kobra’s never been able to hear the thoughts of people who are asleep or unconscious. He  _ knows _ this. The only reason he’d assumed Ghoul was dead was because Jet had--

Jet. Fuck.

Kobra doesn’t stop or change directions, just keeps running, not paying any mind to the cameras no doubt tracking his every move.  _ ‘Jet,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘Jet, fuck, Ghoul’s not dead!’ _

_ ‘What?’ _ Jet’s thoughts come in fuzzy, not quite there. 

__ _ ‘Ghoul’s not dead,’  _ Kobra repeats.  _ ‘Ghoul’s not dead, and, Jet. I don’t think Party’s dead, either.’ _

__ _ ‘What?’ _ Jet’s thoughts are clearer this time, shock and pain and guilt hitting Kobra along with his words.  _ ‘Kobra, I--don’t. Don’t do this, Kobra, I--I  _ saw _ them, I  _ heard _ them, I know what I did and--’ _

_ ‘Jet,  _ think _ about it,’ _ Kobra interrupts. Someone in a white jacket steps through a door and into Kobra’s path. He flicks his finger, directing a wave of sound at them and sending them careening back into the room they’d just emerged from.  _ ‘You know how BL/ind works, what they  _ do. _ Why would they set you up to kill Party when they could just brainwash you both into workin’ for ‘em?’ _

_ ‘Because they know how I feel about Party and they want to punish me?’ _

__ _ ‘Jet. I’m serious.’ _

__ _ ‘So am I. Kobra, I’m sorry. But--’ _

_‘Where are you?’_ Kobra interrupts again. There’s an alarm going off now. Perfect, more sound for him to use. 

_ ‘Block C-2,’ _ Jet thinks to him.  _ ‘I’m heading to the Director’s office.’ _

Kobra stops running, reaching out to catch himself on the wall.  _ ‘You’re what?’ _ he asks, honestly shocked.  _ ‘Jet. What the hell are you doing?’ _

__ _ ‘The Director stole everything from me.’ _ Jet’s emotions are a riotous tangle Kobra can’t deal with right now. He focuses on the words as Jet thinks them.  _ ‘My life, Party’s life, the lives of those rebels. I--I’m not letting her get away with that.’ _

__ _ ‘Okay,’  _ Kobra sends back, starting to run again.  _ ‘That’s fine, Jet, I’m not gonna fuckin’ stop ya from givin’ ‘er what she deserves. Fuck shit up on your way there. We’re goin’ all out anyway. Just don’t give up on Party.’ _

__ _ ‘Kobra,’ _ Jet sends him.  _ ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You--you and Ghoul. You’re like brothers to me. I--I’m sorry.’ _

__ _ ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ find Party and send ‘em after your ass,’ _ Kobra thinks, shooting a blunt soundwave at a group of three BL/ind agents rushing him as he turns a corner,  _ ‘I’d come kick your ass right now, but I’ve got a boyfriend to bust outta re-education.’ _

__ A fresh wave of sadness and anger and guilt hits Kobra from Jet’s mind, and then Jet sends,  _ ‘Good luck, Kobra. I hope I’ll see you again.’ _

_ ‘Jet, you fuckin’ overdramatic asshole, don’t act like one of us is gonna die.’ _

Jet doesn’t reply to him directly, but Kobra feels a familiar spike of adrenaline, and hears, distantly, an explosion.

 

\----------

 

Jet refuses to leave Party’s body behind. The room is in flames, electronics melting and fabric burning. He won’t leave Party behind to get mangled in that. He’s going to take Party back to the desert they called home and see that they have a proper burial. It’s the absolute least he can do.

So Jet hoists Party over his shoulders, as gently as he can, and locks his emotions up in a box in his head where he can’t feel them anymore, the opposite of his old persona of the Perfect Soldier, and marches through the building to the Director’s office.

He’s glad that Kobra’s found Ghoul alive. If both he and Kobra had lost their--well. Of course, Kobra  _ has _ lost someone, because Party was his sibling, but. If Kobra had lost Ghoul  _ and _ Party….

And Kobra may believe that Party’s still alive, but Jet’s the one who saw what happened. Jet’s the one with Party slung unceremoniously over his shoulders. 

They’re dead.

Even if  _ Apparition _ wasn’t dead, even if her illusions hadn’t faded with her death, Party--or, in the case Kobra’s hoping for, the person wearing Party’s face--would have changed back once Jet left her range, and he’s definitely more than 50 feet away from her body now. 

Just in case, he glances at Party’s face, resting on his shoulder, but, no. It’s still Party. Of  _ course _ it’s Party.

He looks away, swallowing tightly, forces down the horror and guilt again. Anger. Anger is the only emotion he needs right now.

And, of course. Of course BL/ind would, after a decade of torturing Jet, force him to commit one last crime, one last  _ murder, _ while he was still aware to process it. Of course they would make him...kill  _ Party. _

There’s a door in front of him, locked tight against everyone but the highest-security employees.

Jet shifts Party’s weight on his shoulders, lifts his hand, thinks about destroying the door and squeezes his fist.

The wall explodes, bits of metal and glass and plastic shooting out away from him. There’s a scream from the other side, someone caught in the mess. He doesn’t care. Party’s dead, BL/ind’s to blame, so he  _ doesn’t care. _

He steps forward, over the debris, and keeps walking. 

He’s only been to the Director’s office once, the first year he was employed at Better Living. She had introduced herself, thanked him for joining their team (as though he’d had a choice), and then sent him on his way. 

The Director has full control over BL/ind, knows exactly what’s going on, knows what everyone’s doing. She dictates everyone’s movements, demands everyone do exactly as she says.

She’s the one who commanded Party’s death. The one who made him kill them. She’s the one who forced Jet to work here in the first place. The one who put all those rebels into re-education, sent all those  _ kids _ into the  _ desert _ to  _ die. _

Every death, every minute of suffering in this city, is because of  _ her. _

And he intends to make her pay.

He hears footsteps running toward him. He raises his hand in their direction, doesn’t look at them. The footsteps stop.

Jet pauses mid-step, considering. A moment of silence passes, and he decides...no.

He lowers his hand, tightens his grip on Party’s body, and continues down the hallway. Everyone who works in BL/ind deserves to die, he tells himself.  _ I should have killed whoever that was. _

But, no.  _ He _ used to work here. Not everyone has a choice. It was good that he didn’t kill them.

_ But I killed Party. I  _ killed _ them. _

Not by choice. BL/ind forced his hand. BL/ind tricked him...again and again. This is just their  _ worst _ trick.

But is it?  _ Is _ it their worst trick? The stronghold...he’d destroyed the entire place. Killed everyone but Mad Rabbit. So many people….

He straightens his shoulders, Party’s weight growing heavier with each step. It doesn’t matter which was the worst thing BL/ind had done, the worst thing they’d forced  _ him _ to do. 

The Director will pay for all of it.

He’s nearly to the elevator that goes up to the Director’s office when someone stops him. “Jet Star.”

Jet stops, turns. There’s Korse. He’d been wondering if he’d see him, since apparently the “Korse” he’d killed in the security room was an imposter. 

Korse smirks at him from an adjacent hallway, a ray gun in hand. “Long time, no see,” he says. “Are you going to give up and come quietly?”

“Have you seen what I can do?” Jet asks. He raises his hand toward Korse, who flinches. “I guess so.” 

“Just come with me to re-education and we won’t hurt you or your fellow conspirators.”

Jet’s anger flares up, hotter, but he reigns it in. He huffs out a laugh, cold and humorless. “You’ve already done enough,” he says, gesturing to Party on his shoulders. 

Korse’s gaze flicks over to Party’s face, and Jet sees something flicker over his face--confusion? What’s confusing about this situation?

The look is gone as quickly as it had appeared, Korse’s smirk firmly in place once more. “We won’t hurt the other one, then,” he says.

“Ghoul?” Jet snorts. “I’m not worried about Ghoul. He’s got help on the way.”

Korse frowns. His raygun tips downward, for just a moment, and then he points it at Jet again. “If you don’t come with me,” Korse says, “I’ll have to kill you.”

“You won’t kill me,” Jet says, and raises his hand. “You won’t kill anyone ever again.”

He squeezes his fist, and a heavy light falls from the ceiling, flickering and sparking, right on top of him.

Jet ignores his pained cry, and continues on to the elevator.

Anger. That’s all he needs. Anger, rage,  _ fury. _ That’s all he can allow himself to feel right now.

He can be sad later. He can hate himself later.

For now, he’ll be rightfully furious.

 

\----------

 

Kobra’s almost to Block A-7, almost to  _ Ghoul, _ when he hears another explosion. 

It’s closer this time, and clearly not caused by Jet. Kobra halts mid-step, wobbles; keeps running. Getting to Ghoul is more important than whatever’s happening elsewhere in the building.

The alarms are still blaring, but now they take on a different tone; higher, more frantic. Kobra has no idea what the change is for, but he’s sure it means BL/ind’s getting increasingly worried about something. He smiles to himself. They’d  _ better _ be worried.   
He turns a corner and hurls a wave of the noise at a group of three BL/ind agents armed with ray guns. They slam into the wall, and he keeps running.

_ ‘Kobra Kid! Aw, fuck, can you hear me? Or am I just thinkin’ real hard for no goddamn reason?’ _

Kobra slows again.  _ ‘Monster?’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘Is that you?’ _ A stupid question; he knows it’s Monster. He just doesn’t know why she’s thinking to him, why she’s  _ in range. _ She was supposed to be meeting up with the other rebels, getting information.

_ ‘Oh good, it works! So we’re here, an’ we wanna cause some chaos, but things are already lookin’ pretty wild, and Berry just smashed a brick into some guy’s head, so where do we go to bust Kiwi out?’ _   
Kobra shakes his head, starts running again. Half his mind is focused on the task at hand, getting to Ghoul, and the other half is occupied by figuring out  _ what the fuck is going on. _

Monster, Strawberry, Fruit Punch, and Coast are all one floor below him. They have others with them; a  _ lot _ of others. Limelight and Sideshow, the Girl,  _ Luca and Anna…. _

All the rebels they could gather up are here, seemingly, and Kobra doesn’t know  _ why, _ but he’s immensely glad for it. Glad they’re here to help, glad to find that Ghoul’s  _ parents _ are okay, because not only are they  _ Ghoul’s parents, _ but Luca was there with Ghoul and Party, and if he’s okay, if they’re  _ both _ okay, then Party  _ has _ to be okay, too.

_ ‘Find the stairs to the next floor,’ _ he sends to Monster.  _ ‘A-7. I’m here. Ghoul’s in re-education here, and so’s Kiwi. We’ll bust ‘em out. Fuck up whatever you want on the way here.’ _

_ ‘Already on it, bud,’ _ Monster thinks, and there’s another explosion.  _ ‘These city rebels’ve got some fuckin’  _ nice _ toys!’ _

Kobra can’t help but chuckle, flicking a soundwave at some more BL/ind agents trying to get in his way. He’s going to get Ghoul out. BL/ind is going down.

They’re in the midst of a revolution.

 

\----------

 

The elevator won’t open without a security bracelet, which Jet had neglected to pick up in the security room. That’s not a problem for him, though. Metal is easy enough to melt, it seems, and the elevator works just fine without any doors at all.

He steps into the elevator and presses the button for the Director’s office, and the elevator begins to rise, the opening he’s just stepped through shrinks and then disappears, replaced by the bare cement of the wall.

The rest of the elevator walls are covered in mirrors.

Jet catches his own eye in one of the mirror panels, and he doesn’t quite recognize himself. His eyes are hard, his eyebrows drawn tight together, his mouth turned down in a grimace. There are cuts and scrapes on his cheek, his forehead, his neck. His hair is tangled, his BL/ind-approved outfit singed and torn and spattered with blood. 

He’s no longer the perfect, ever-obedient, neat and tidy soldier BL/ind trained him to be, forced him to be.

But he’s not the man who left them behind to live a life of joy and freedom in the desert, either.

He’s some third Jet Star, a vindictive Jet Star with no qualms about killing, who kills of his  _ own volition. _

His stomach twists, and he breaks eye contact with his reflection, his gaze sliding instead to Party’s face, reflected in the mirror as well.

It’s impossible for Jet to mistake them for sleeping. Their eyes are closed, yes, their expression relaxed, but there’s dried blood at the corner of their mouth, their nose. Their face is still.  _ Too _ still. 

He did this.  _ He-- _

No, he reminds himself.  _ BL/ind _ did this. Collier did this, Apparition did this, the Director did this.

The number beside the door ticks higher and higher as he rises, and as he hits the 6th floor, Party’s face in the mirror  _ shifts. _

Jet watches in shock as the red fades from Party’s hair, as their hair shortens, and shortens, and  _ shortens. _ Their features change, their nose and their lips and the shape of their jaw, their freckles vanish.

In mere moments, he’s no longer looking at Party; the face he sees in the mirror is a baby-faced BL/ind agent, with blond hair buzzed close to his scalp.

Jet nearly fumbles Party--fumbles the  _ body- _ -off of his shoulders as he turns to look at them, look at  _ him, _ look at the person he’s been carrying through the building.

It’s not Party.

_ It’s not Party. _

Is this a trick?  _ Another _ trick? No. This--this has to be the truth. Right? Because why would Apparition make him think--? And then--? 

What is going  _ on? _

Gingerly, he sets the body down on the floor. Looks at him, looks at the person he’s been carrying on his shoulders. He thinks he’s going to throw up, he’s nauseous, he’s filled with relief, and confusion, and fear, and anger- _ -so much anger- _ -and he doesn’t know what to do, what to feel,  _ how _ to feel.

If this isn’t Party, then Party isn’t dead. Right? 

He feels dizzy, his mind reeling. Party isn’t dead. Kobra was right. 

_ Party isn’t dead! _

The elevator  _ ding _ s, alerting him to the fact that he’s reached the eighth floor.

The Director’s office.

His gut, his  _ brain, _ is still a tangle of emotions, but some of them settle down, sit heavy in his stomach,  _ simmer _ and  _ seeth _ inside of him, because Party might not be dead, Party might still be alive and  _ okay _ somewhere, but that doesn’t mean the Director is blameless, doesn’t mean she’s  _ innocent. _

The elevator comes to a halt. The eighth floor doors slide open, and he’s met with the Director aiming a ray gun into his face.

“Hello, Jet Star.”

 

\----------

 

Kobra barely catches himself from tossing a deadly wave of sound at Monster when she appears in the doorway he’s running past, luckily caught off guard by the riot of color she and the other rebels are wearing.

“Kobra!” she exclaims, hefting a heavy metal rod in one hand. “Fuck yeah! The rescue team’s here, now take us to Kiwi!”

“Why are all of you here?” he asks. He waves them forward, continuing down the hall without waiting for a reply. There’s at least twenty rebels here, and probably more elsewhere in the building.

“Red came bustin’ into the tunnels with some BL/ind bastards on his tail,” Monster says, easily falling into step beside him. “He said they’d nabbed Ghoul an’ Party, an’ that there were other agents in the tunnels, so Hen said it was time to move an’ called up a bunch’a other rebels and we started crackin’ heads.” She gestures behind her with the metal rod. “‘Parently, since BL/ind knows ‘bout the tunnels now, they all figured it was better to fight than hide, an’ we figured ya might need help gettin’ everybody out, so here we are!”

Kobra nods. “Glad to have ya,” he says. “There more of you, or is this it?”

“Oh, there’s a shit ton more,” she says, swinging her rod out to  _ block a ray gun blast, _ fuck, Kobra’s glad she’s on his side. “We split up to get in the buildin’. Berry went with the group down to the basement, Coast an’ Fruitsy went to that other brainwashin’ station.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her smile, teeth bared. “BL/ind’s goin’  _ down, _ Kobra.”

A giddy feeling rises up in him, and he can’t help the little chuckle that escapes him. “Fuck yeah it is,” he says. He catches sight of a sign on the wall.  _ “Re-Education Section A-7,” _ it reads.

To Ghoul, he thinks,  _ ‘Almost there, Ghoul. Hang on.’ _

_ ‘I’m hangin’,’  _ Ghoul thinks. He seems calmer than he had earlier.  _ ‘TV is shit, can’t believe people have the ability to act out stories an’ shit and they make  _ this _ crap.’ _

_ ‘Pretty sure re-education materials aren’t meant for enjoyment,’ _ Kobra sends back, turning a corner.  _ ‘But you’re right, even the actual TV shows are pretty shit.’ _

_ ‘Waste’a technology,’ _ Ghoul thinks.

_ ‘Welcome to Battery City.’ _

_ ‘Battery City sucks ass.’ _

_ ‘’S why we left.’ _ Kobra glances at Monster. “There’s six rooms,” he says. “Ghoul an’ Kiwi’re in two of ‘em, but everyone needs to get out. Got it?”

“‘Course, Kid! No one deserves to go through what Kiwi did.”

Kobra catches some sorrow, some anger, the image of Kiwi’s face, eyes wide and cheeks wet. Monster doesn’t dwell on those thoughts long, and Kobra doesn’t push.

A-7 had one empty room last night when Party had checked then. That’s gotta be where they put Ghoul.

He doesn’t stop to read the information beside the doors, just throws a wave of sound at the door. The alarms fall silent for a split second, and then there’s a huge  _ boom! _ and bits of metal and plastic rain down around him.

Kobra charges through the debris, doesn’t flinch when a shard slices his cheek. There’s a screen on the wall, he sees, displaying a happy, smiling family. In front of the screen is a single chair, a head of black hair just visible over the back.

“Ghoul,” he says, and kicks aside a jagged shard of metal in order to rush forward.

Ghoul turns his head as much as his constraints will allow. “Kobra,” he says, and grins.

And Kobra thinks he might melt, might  _ combust, _ because that’s Ghoul’s  _ voice, _ his actual  _ voice, _ which not long ago he’d thought that he wouldn’t ever hear again, but he’s here, he’s alive, he’s  _ speaking, _ and Kobra wants nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and take him out of this place.

Kobra tugs at the straps keeping him in place and pulls--they don’t budge. Obviously. He grumbles at himself, shoots a whistling blast of sound at the locking mechanisms, and once they fall away, he grabs Ghoul by the shoulders and pulls him up, tucks him tight against his chest.

Ghoul wraps his arms around him, hands fisting in the fabric at his back, and,  _ oh fuck. _

Ghoul’s here, Ghoul’s alive, and he’s  _ okay! _

There’s another explosion from deep in the building, but Kobra doesn’t care, because--

“Ghoul,” he says again, squeezing him, holding him tight. He’s not dead, he’s  _ alive, _ alive and  _ here. _

Ghoul looks up at him, releases his grip on Kobra’s shirt. Kobra tilts his head to look at him better, just as Ghoul’s hands come up to grip the sides of his face and pull him down into a crushing kiss.

_ ‘You’re okay,’ _ Kobra thinks, as he presses himself closer to Ghoul, as he cups Ghoul’s face in his hand.

‘You’re  _ okay,’ _ Ghoul thinks back at him. He pulls away from the kiss, looks into his eyes. “Ready to fuck shit up?” he asks aloud.

Kobra laughs and kisses him again.  _ ‘With you? Always.’ _

Someone clears their throat from the doorway, but Kobra doesn’t pull away. 

They clear their throat again, and Kobra sighs against Ghoul’s lips before breaking the kiss to look over at Monster, her arms crossed over her chest. The girl is with her, peering around her legs. “What?” he asks, keeping his tone as cold as possible. “Kinda busy here.”

“I can see that,” she says, rolling her eyes, “but we can’t get any’a these fuckin’ doors open without your power, ‘parently, and  _ I need to get to Kiwi.” _

Oh. Right. The mission. 

Reluctantly, Kobra pulls away from Ghoul, keeping a hand on him. He looks down at Ghoul, and smiles. “Got your voice ready to go?”

Ghoul nods. “Let’s do it.”

Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid leap into action.

 

\----------

 

Jet stares into the Director’s eyes. They’re cold, hard. There’s no sign of fear, no sign of  _ anything. _ She looks young, but she’s always looked young. Jet doesn’t know if it’s genetics, or some kind of BL/ind tech; he just knows that she looks even younger than  _ he _ is, and it’s disconcerting to be faced with such a baby-faced individual with a sharp gaze and a fucking  _ gun _ pointed in his face.

Of course, the ray gun is easily taken care of. He closes his hand into a fist, quicker than she can move her trigger finger, and the gun melts in her grip.

The Director drops the mass of bubbling, liquifying plastic and metal, clutching at her blistering hand with a yelp. She jumps back, away from the puddle that used to be a gun, away from Jet, and glares at him, face twisting nastily.

Jet steps forward, leaving the blond BL/ind agent’s body behind as the elevator doors close behind him with a  _ ding. _ Now it’s just him and the Director, alone in her rooftop office overlooking the city.

She eyes him warily for a moment, before her mask of indifference slips back into place. “Jet Star,” she says again. “This is unnecessary. Futile. Even if you kill me, as you seem to so desperately want, the corporation  _ will _ continue on.”

“What did you do to Party?” he asks, instead of addressing  _ that _ issue.

“Party?” She blinks, and then says, “Ah. You mean Stefa--”

“I  _ mean _ Party Poison,” he says, taking another step closer. She doesn’t flinch, now, simply stands her ground, watching him. “I don’t care what their name  _ was, _ I don’t care what you think they should be called.” He stares down at her, close enough now that he’s looking down his nose at her. “I want to know  _ where _ Party is, what you did to them. The  _ real _ Party, not Apparition’s trick!”

“Re-education in Block C-3,” she says, and Jet’s surprised at how willing she is to give him the information.  _ It’s a trick, _ he tells himself. It  _ must _ be. He can’t leave to check, not until he’s sure the Director won’t be able to stop him.

“Why do you do it?” he asks.  _ Party’s alive. Party’s alive, so they’re okay. _ “Why do you make people--make  _ me- _ -kill for you?”

She doesn’t reply. She steps away from him, walking over to a wall of security monitors on one side of the room. He feels his jaw tighten, angry that she would turn her back on him, when she  _ knows _ what he’s capable of.

“You don’t have to go through re-education again, Jet Star,” she says, looking up at the monitors.

He frowns, moves to stand behind her. What the hell does  _ that _ mean? Why would she tell him that? Another trick? She’d sent a group of exterminators and superheroes after him,  _ in order to _ send him to re-education. 

“You can be a powerful man, one of my executives,” she continues. She turns just slightly, looking over her shoulder at him, and then looks back up. He follows her gaze, and sees that she’s watching one feed in particular, a re-education room. The angle of the camera clearly shows the room’s single occupant, and Jet freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

_ Party. _

They’re slumped over in their chair, the straps the only things keeping them from falling out of the chair. Their hair hangs in their face, obscuring the features, but Jet knows- _ -knows- _ -that this is Party,  _ really _ them. 

They look so much like the first time Jet ever saw them that the feeling of surreality hits him again, full force. Anger and fear feel distant; nothing feels quite real, suddenly.

He doesn’t even know if this is a live feed of them, or if it’s a recording. Is it a trick? Is she trying to confuse him? Or give him hope before ripping it away again?

_ ‘Kobra,’ _ he thinks, hoping his urgency bleeds through,  _ ‘Kobra, Party, they--’ _

__ _ ‘Got it,’ _ Kobra interrupts.  _ ‘I don’t know what that’s about, dunno if it’s live--hang tight. Got rebels on that side.’ _

__ _ ‘Okay.’ _ His heart is pounding again. He has no idea if Party’s actually alive, doesn’t know if it’s true, what’s  _ real, _ but if there’s even a single fucking chance that they’re alive, that they’re  _ okay, _ then--

Then everything else will be okay, too.

“You see?” the Director says, snapping Jet out of his thoughts. “I will make you an executive,” she says again. “You will take orders from no one except myself, directly. You will never have to go through re-education again.” She pauses, and though her expression doesn’t change, doesn’t shift at all, Jet gets the feeling that she’s scrutinizing him. “I will allow you to carry on your relationship with Stef--” she cuts herself off, corrects herself, “--with  _ Party Poison.” _

Anger flares up in his gut, in his chest, hot and volatile, at the way she says that. The way she  _ offers _ that. Like he should be grateful she’d  _ allow _ him to keep loving Party, like he wouldn’t just snap her in half, if that’s what he had to do to secure his and Party’s freedom. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice steady, hands clenched at his sides.

She arches an eyebrow at him. “I mean what I say,” she tells him. She folds her arms over her chest, doesn’t even wince as her blistered hand rubs against the fabric of her suit. “I will give you a fleet of exterminators and Draculoids under your control, and you will have to answer only to me. You will have more freedom than you have ever  _ dreamed _ of, and, once Party Poison has completed the process of re-education, you may carry on your relationship with him, as unorthodox as it is.” She tilts her head to one side, just slightly. “I will even give you your name back. You won’t need to be Jet Star anymore.”

As the Director speaks, Jet feels himself growing more and more agitated. She thinks he’d want a relationship with the brainwashed  _ shell  _ of Party? She thinks he’d trade Party--his life--his family in the desert--for the paltry “freedom” and power she has to offer?

Something in him snaps, and he feels his heart beating faster, his vision sharpening, his entire body going on high alert. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears, loud and pulsing.

“My name,” he tells her through gritted teeth,  _ “is _ Jet Star.”

There’s a flash visible through the wide windows, a bolt of lightning streaking through the sky. A moment later, a roll of thunder, breaking through the roaring in his ears.

The Director doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just continues staring him down. “You can remain Jet Star, if you like,” she says.

“I don’t need your permission for anything,” he says. His voice is shaking now, not with fear or nerves, but with anger, with  _ hatred. _ “You took me. Made me your slave. Forced me to go against every belief I’ve ever held dear. Forced me to  _ kill. _ To  _ destroy.” _

__ Another bolt of lightning, this one striking the top of a nearby office building and causing the lights to flicker, and then go out. He speaks over the thunder this time, uses it to punctuate his words. “You don’t control me anymore!”

“Jet Star,” she bites out, and he can see the tendons in her neck go taut. “I control  _ everything _ in Battery City.”

“Not for long,” he says, and lifts his hand.

 

\----------

 

“Is my dad okay?” Ghoul asks Kobra, as Monster rushes into the room to get to Kiwi. “And my--my mom?”

His dad was with him when this all went down, and though he knows Party was captured, he has no idea what happened with Luca. Anna--his mom--was in the tunnels with Monster and Fruitsy and some others. And he’s currently surrounded by a shit ton of rebels, so hopefully that means something good.

Kobra looks at him, nods once. “Monster told me he got into the tunnels and warned ‘em,” he says. “He an’ Hen should be here, somewhere. Fightin’.”

Relief rushes through Ghoul’s body. He hadn’t even realized how worried he’d been.

“Kiwi, fuck, ya gotta--damn it!” Monster’s voice. Ghoul leans around the door frame to peer inside, and sees Monster standing in front of a shaking Kiwi Blast, struggling to undo the straps.

“Monster,” Kiwi says, and the tone of his voice, the way it  _ breaks, _ gives Ghoul goosebumps. He’s never heard Kiwi sound like that.

Kobra steps in to help Monster, and Ghoul remains outside the door, keeping watch. There are plenty of city rebels rushing around, pulling people out of re-education or just breaking whatever they can get their hands on. Most of them are wearing white, or gray, but everyone has splashes of color on them: blue lipstick or pink shoelaces or bright orange hairclips. Some have more color on them than others, some of them are decked out head-to-toe in white, aside from the one item.

He takes off his jacket and throws it on the floor. His shirt is next, and his pants would go too, if Kobra didn’t come into his head right then with a wordless negative. 

He sighs. Well, at least shirtless no one’s gonna think he’s with BL/ind and take a brick to his skull or something.

“Hey.”

Ghoul blinks and looks down. The girl is standing there, a bright green bandana in her hand. “Hey,” he says. “How ya doin’, Girlie?”

She rolls her eyes. “Peachy,” she says. She shakes the bandana at him. “You look like you need some color.”

The bandana’s for him? Ghoul takes it carefully, looks at it. Neon green, with big smiley faces all over it. There’s definitely potential in it.

He ties the bandana around his neck, looks at the girl. “How’s it look?” he asks.

She squints at him, then gives him a thumbs-up, nodding her head in a way that makes her curls shake. “Now you look like a  _ real _ rebel,” she tells him.

He grins at her, a light and happy feeling in his chest despite--or maybe in part because of--the chaos around him.

Kobra sends him a little burst of happiness, too, apparently listening in from the other room.

“Where’s Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid?”

Ghoul lifts his gaze from the girl’s at the frantic tone, and meets the eye of a rebel, a woman with long pink hair and a blue jacket. He doesn’t recognize her, but that’s not all that weird--he only knows a handful of the city rebels.

“I’m Fun Ghoul,” he says. “Whaddaya need?”

“There’s trouble in C-5,” she says, eyes wide and chest heaving. “There’s a blockade of BL/ind agents there, keeping our forces from reaching the prisoners! We need you to come take care of them!”

Ghoul cracks his knuckles. This is definitely something they can take care of. He leans around the doorframe to look at Kobra, and instead finds Kobra right in front of him, lips pulled tight, eyebrows drawn together.

_ ‘She’s lying,’ _ he thinks.  _ ‘That’s not a fuckin’ rebel.’ _

__ _ ‘What?’ _ Ghoul shoots a look at her, and sees that she’s bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.  _ ‘Then what--’ _

__ _ ‘Fuck,’ _ Kobra thinks, interrupting him.  _ ‘It’s Apparition. She--fuck. She’s trying to lead us away so she can capture us.’ _ Out loud, he says, “Kiddo. Don’t wantcha gettin’ hurt. Go see if Monster an’ Kiwi want some help, yeah?”

She squints at him, and Ghoul doesn’t know if Kobra’s thinking something to her or if the kid is just really good at picking up on hints, but she nods and skips past the two of them into the room.

_ ‘Follow my lead,’ _ Kobra thinks to him, and steps toward Apparition. “Show us where,” he says.

Apparition nods, and points down the hall. “This way,” she says, and starts leading them away.

Ghoul squeezes his eyes shut, focusing, and looks at her again, and now he sees it--Apparition, in her true form, white BL/ind jacket and all. Shit.

Kobra stops suddenly, patting his pockets, and swears. “The file,” he says. “The file--I must’ve left it in--” he gestures at an open doorway. The doorway to the room Ghoul had been tied up in, he notices. He thinks he sees where Kobra’s going with this, now.

Apparition turns to look at him, her lips turned up in a snarl. Her features soften just slightly, and in a worried tone, she says, “Oh, of course, just--hurry, please. I don’t know how long they’ll last!”

Ghoul wonders what her illusioned expression is supposed to look like.

“Wait here, hang on--” Kobra steps into the room, and thinks to Ghoul,  _ ‘Need ya to scream. Aim it toward her, but be careful--we’re not breakin’ any bones.’ _

Not like Ghoul has any control over that. He can control when the scream happens  _ (usually) _ , but he can’t exactly soften the blow. That’s all Kobra, with his redirecting and his silencing. Still, he gets what he means: Don’t aim it  _ at _ her, just in her  _ direction. _

Ghoul opens his mouth and screams, the sound tearing out of his chest and through his throat, a concussive sound wave that he trusts Kobra will deal with properly.

No one else around reacts, so Ghoul figures he must have silenced the area. He can’t see sound, of course, and can’t sense it in quite the same way Kobra can, but as he watches, Apparition is launched from where she’d been standing in the hallway and into the room.

Ghoul follows them both inside a moment later, after he’s sure he won’t be hit by his own scream. He finds Kobra holding Apparition by the neck, standing in front of the chair Ghoul had been in just a few minutes earlier.

“You did it,” Kobra says, voice hard. “You made Jet think he’d killed Party.”

Ghoul can’t see Apparition’s face from this angle, but she must do something, taunt Kobra in some way, because his eyes and grip both tighten.

“Just to torment him?” he asks. “That’s it? Just to-- _ hurt _ \--” Kobra’s grip tightens on her throat even more, and now Ghoul can see her arms come up to try and rip his hands away. Fuck--

“Kobes,” he says. “Kobes, let go, don’t kill her. Please.”

There’s a tense moment, during which Ghoul isn’t sure whether Kobra will listen to him or not, but then he does, loosing his hold on her and pushing her backward, driving her into the chair. He fastens the straps around her, puts his hand on the little metal box on the back of the chair.

“How do I recalibrate it for your power?” he asks. 

Ghoul steps closer, watching them both. 

Apparition doesn’t reply, but Kobra must see what he needs in her mind, because he waves Ghoul over and pulls the bracelet off Apparition’s wrist.

“What the hell are you  _ doing?” _ she hisses, but Kobra ignores her.

“Voice recognition,” he says to Ghoul, holding the bracelet out to him. “Name and agent identification number.” A moment later, Kobra sends a string of numbers and letters into his mind. 

Ghoul lifts the bracelet to his lips. He flexes his throat, loosens his jaw, and says in a perfect imitation of Apparition’s voice, “Apparition. A.I.D. Number 7-AP-3-J16.”

The bracelet’s screen lights up, and a hologram hovers above it. He can’t read anything on it except a few familiar words--”BL/ind” being one of them, of course--so he hands it back to Kobra.

“How the  _ hell _ did you know that number?” Apparition asks, voice shaking. “No one knows that number but me and the Director!”

Kobra shrugs, pressing the bracelet against the little metal box. There’s a  _ beep, _ and a  _ click, _ and nothing else. Kobra seems satisfied, so Ghoul assumes that that’s what’s supposed to happen.

“We know a lot that BL/ind doesn’t want us to,” Kobra tells her. He pauses, then leans in really close to her, his hands braced on her arms, his face inches from hers. “I’m not gonna kill you,” he says, in a quiet, even tone, “because if I did, I’d make my boyfriend real fuckin’ upset. So I’m leavin’ ya here, with no powers, while we strip your precious corporation to the bones. But,” Kobra’s jaw tightens, his eyes harden, and Ghoul would piss his goddamn pants right now if he didn’t know Kobra, didn’t trust him with his life, didn’t love the hell out of him. “But,” Kobra continues, “if you fuckin’ touch my sibling--or my brother--again,  _ ever _ use your powers on them in any way, if you ever so much as  _ look _ at either of them again, I won’t hesitate to blast you apart with the sound of your own screams.”

And,  _ fuck. _ That’s a terrifying thought, made even more so by the fact that Kobra is absolutely, completely,  _ dead fucking serious. _

Apparition seems to agree, because she shrinks back from him, pressing her back against the cold metal of the chair, tilting her head back and away from him.

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, wide-eyed and terrified. Good. She made Kobra think he was  _ dead, _ Ghoul reminds himself. Made Jet think he’d killed Party. She deserves a little fear.

Kobra straightens up after a few moments, looks at Ghoul. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go find Party.”

Ghoul nods and falls into step beside him. He pointedly doesn’t look back at Apparition. She’s not being brainwashed, after all. She’s just restrained.

_ ‘Sorry,’ _ Kobra thinks to him as they step out into the chaos of the hallway.  _ ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’ _

__ _ ‘It’s fine,’ _ Ghoul thinks back.  _ ‘If anyone has to die…’ _ he pauses, looking around. He spots Monster coming out of Kiwi’s re-education room, clutching him to her side, keeping him upright as he staggers alongside her. He catches Ghoul looking at him and gives him a weak smile and a thumbs-up.

_ ‘If anyone has to die, it’d better be the fuckers who did this,’ _ Ghoul continues, going over to help Monster support him,  _ ‘and not any of you. I wanna make sure this doesn’t fuckin’ happen to anyone else. Ever again.’ _

 

\----------

 

Party comes to with a snap.

It’s not like waking up, soft and gradual. It’s not like re-entering their body after astral projecting, either, a sudden shift in perspective. It’s like something’s been keeping them down, holding them back, and suddenly they’ve been released, and they can feel again.

There’s an alarm going off, piercing shrieks that make their head pound. There weren’t alarms going off a second ago. Were there? Wait. They were in spirit form just a second ago, right? And now they’re in their body again. Right? What the hell is happening?

They wrench their eyes open to find Show Pony in front of them, Pony’s hands on their shoulders, Pony’s face hovering in front of their own, peering worriedly at them.

“Pony!” Party exclaims, momentarily forgetting their confusion in favor of lunging forward and throwing their arms around them, tugging them close. “Fuck, Pony, you’re okay!”

Pony laughs, helping them stand. They both slide a little across the floor before Pony stabilizes themself on their skates. “I’m okay,” they say, grinning at them. “And so are you! I heard ya came to rescue me, hm?”

“‘Course I did! When I heard you were missin’--when we found out you were dragged off to Batt City--I went goddamn  _ ballistic, _ ya know?” Party hugs them tight, squeezing their eyes shut. Pony’s okay. Pony’s  _ okay, _ and that means they’ve accomplished their goal! Right? Right.

Wait. Why the fuck is  _ Pony _ pulling them out of--

Party opens their eyes and pulls back, taking in their surroundings.

They’re standing in the middle of a small white room, a darkened screen on the wall just in front of them. They’re standing in the middle of a  _ re-education room, _ exactly like the one they’d been in before.

What the  _ fuck. _ How the hell did they get in here? Like, a  _ minute _ ago they’d been flying around the building, and their body was in  _ bed, _ back at the safe house, guarded by Ghoul and Luca. Wait, fuck, so if Party’s here, what’s happened to Ghoul and Luca? And Kobra, is he--

Kobra.

Fuck, Kobra should know what’s going on, right?

Still holding onto Pony’s shoulders, they close their eyes and concentrate.  _ ‘Kobra,’ _ they think,  _ ‘Kobes, holy shit, what the hell happened?!’ _

__ _ ‘Party!’ _ comes the immediate reply, and Kobra’s thoughts are, like, goddamn  _ soaked _ in relief, what the  _ hell? ‘Party, I  _ knew _ you weren’t dead!’ _

__ _ ‘Why the hell would I be  _ dead, _ you asshole?’ _ Party sends back. Pony’s tugging them toward the door now, saying something about joining the fight, but Party’s only half-listening.

_ ‘Couldn’t contact you,’ _ Kobra thinks to them.  _ ‘Couldn’t even  _ find _ you, it was like you’d just fuckin’  _ vanished. _ And that wouldn’ta been  _ too _ bad, ‘cept Jet said he’d killed you, and I couldn’t contact Ghoul either, and--’ _

_‘Whoa, whoa,_ whoa, _wait, hang on, Jet said_ what?’ Party’s standing in the hallway now, Pony holding onto their elbow, and, oh shit, Coast and Fruitsy are here too, and there’s a bunch of other people they can only assume are rebels rushing around, shit must _really_ be going down!

_ ‘Oh, fuck,’ _ Kobra sends, and now his thoughts are tinted with alarm.  _ ‘Party. Apparition  _ really _ fucked with Jet. She used her power to make him think--’ _

__ _ ‘--that he’d  _ killed _ me?’ _ Party thinks back to their first date with Jet, that night at the bar when Jet was terrified, convinced he’d done something to hurt Mad Rabbit, because he had some shitty memory of an illusion Apparition had fucking  _ tortured _ him with. That had fucked him up bad enough, thinking he’d hurt a  _ stranger. _

Apparition tricking him into thinking he’d  _ killed Party _ has gotta be way goddamn worse for Jet. They can feel their blood boiling.  _ ‘Fuck. He knows I’m alive, right?! Now?!’ _

__ _ ‘He saw you on one of their monitors, while you were asleep, and I had Coast and Fruitsy find your room.’ _

__ _ ‘So he knows?’ _

__ “Party, baby, we have to get moving,” Show Pony says, tightening their grip on Party’s elbow. “They want us out of the building before the exterminators flood the halls.”

“Hang on, Pony, I gotta talk to my brother.”

_ ‘He knows,’ _ Kobra sends, and Party can only experience the relief they feel for a brief moment before he continues,  _ ‘He’s in the Director’s office right now.” _

__ Party’s blood runs cold, and they grab onto Pony to steady themself.  _ ‘Why the hell is he with  _ her, _ Kobes? What the fuck is she  _ doing _ to him?’ _

__ _ ‘She’s trying to recruit him again,’ _ Kobra thinks to them.

_ ‘She’s  _ what--?!’

There’s an explosion from somewhere, far enough away that Party can’t see any immediate effects, but close enough that the floor shakes beneath their feet, causing Pony to slide a bit, and Coast to grab onto Fruitsy’s arm, keeping them both upright.

A moment later, the piercing alarms shut off, and all Party can hear is the sound of the rebels clamoring around them.

“Is this good or bad?” Fruitsy asks, “‘Cause my horoscope was, like,  _ super _ vague this morning.”

“I don’t know,” Pony says, “but we’ve  _ got _ to get out.”

“I can’t,” Party says, clinging to Pony’s shoulders again and looking them in the eye. “Pony, I can’t leave, not when--” They shake their head, bite their lip. “I’ve gotta get to Jet,” they say. “I’ve gotta make sure he’s okay, that  _ he _ gets out.” They’re pleading know, they  _ know _ they are, but they can’t just fuckin’  _ abandon _ Jet in a building full of brainwashing, slave-making bastards, in a building that seems like it could collapse at any time, can’t leave Jet with the thought that he’s  _ killed _ Party. Even if he knows Party’s alive now, knows he didn’t do anything to hurt them--could  _ never _ do anything to hurt them--if Apparition made him see things half as realistic as what she’d made Party see, then they  _ have _ to get to him. They  _ have _ to!

Pony’s watching them intently. There’s a beat of silence between them, and then Pony sighs, and nods. “Of course,” they say, smiling ruefully. “I wouldn’t really expect you to leave him behind. Go on, then--your brother mentioned you could throw your soul out of your body, right? Do that. We’ll carry you out.” They pause, and grin. “Well, one of these two will--I might end up needing carrying, too, hm?”

Party laughs, and leans in to plant a smacking kiss on their cheek. “Take care of yourself, Pony,” they say. “Don’t pass out during your grand goddamn escape, got it?”

Pony puts their hand on their chest and gives them an exaggerated look of offense.  _ “Me?” _ they ask. “Why, I’d  _ never!” _

“And take your fuckin’ binder off,” Party demands, releasing them and taking a step back, away from Pony and closer to Coast and Fruitsy. “You’re lucky you can fuckin’  _ breathe _ after all this!” They turn away, look between Coast and Fruitsy. 

“Alright,” they ask, “which one’a you tall fuckers wants to haul my body ‘round HQ for a while?”

They glance at each other, and shrug, and then Fruitsy steps forward. “I can do that,” she says.

“Great!” Party says, grinning, and closes their eyes. “Then catch me.”

They fall forward, and then they’re looking down at themself as Fruitsy scrambles to catch them.

Now they’ve gotta go find Jet.

Pushing themself upward, they fly up and up and up, through metal and plastic and concrete and, once, through a person.

The Director’s office, everyone knows, is the top floor of the dome-shaped building. 

And that’s where Jet Star is.

Because of the curve of the building, Party emerges outside a couple of floors later. The sky is dark, covered by a thick layer of clouds they’ve only ever seen the likes of a couple of times, and it’s pouring rain. There’s a flash, and a sizzle as a bolt of lightning streaks past, narrowly avoiding striking them, and hitting a lampost behind them.

This is Jet’s storm. It’s obviously one of his; a huge thunderstorm like this wouldn’t just  _ appear _ over Battery City.

The amount of power it must have taken him to create this...the amount of fear, or anger, or whatever the hell emotion he’s feeling right now...fuck. Party needs to make  _ sure _ Kobra told him they’re alive, he didn’t kill them, could  _ never _ kill them, could never kill  _ anyone, _ no matter what Apparition shows him, no matter what BL/ind tells him!

_ ‘I passed on the info,’ _ Kobra sends to them.  _ ‘He knows you’re alive.’ _

__ _ ‘Then why the hell’s the storm so powerful?’  _ Party’s pushing themself up and over, following the arch of the building, heading for the topmost floor, the windows they can see lit up against the dark sky.  _ ‘Aw, fuck, wait, did he lose control? Fuck, Kobes, is he okay?’ _

__ _ ‘Can’t talk much, Party, _ ’ Kobra thinks, and his thoughts come in feeling strained.  _ ‘Got exterminators in the halls. Jet’s not great right now. Just--look, Party, I don’t know what you can do for him right now, in that form. I can try to let him know you’re there with him, but--’ _

__ And he doesn’t send the rest of that thought, but Party knows what he’s saying, anyway:  _ There’s no reason for you to go there.  _

And, fuck. Kobra’s right. Damn it.

They stop just short of the window Party knows leads to the Director's office. They can’t do anything to help Jet in this form. Can’t touch his shoulder, can’t reassure him, can’t hold his  _ hand, _ can’t even fucking  _ talk _ to him while they’re in spirit form. Why the hell are they going after Jet when there’s people down below  _ fighting for their goddamn lives? _

They should go back down. They should go down and help them fight, help them get out and away from BL/ind once and for all. In their body, they would be able to help with their telekinesis.

But like this, they’re no good to anyone.

But…

But.

But Jet’s alone. Jet’s alone, and Party doesn’t know what he’s feeling or what he’s doing, doesn’t know  _ what, _ if  _ anything, _ they can possibly do to help, but they have to be there for him. They  _ have _ to be, can’t leave him alone.

Jet needs them.

Kobra sends them the impression of a sigh, and then he thinks,  _ ‘Go, Party. We’ve got this covered. If we  _ need _ you, I’ll let you know.’ _

__ _ ‘Thanks, Kobes,’ _ Party thinks back, and they  _ are _ grateful.  _ ‘Take care of yourselves. Each other.’ _

__ _ ‘Don’t we always?’ _ Kobra’s thoughts carry the feeling of  _ knowing, _ of  _ understanding, _ and Party wonders how many times he’s felt like this about Ghoul.

_ ‘A lot,’ _ Kobra thinks.  _ ‘Now go, Party!’ _

Party goes, pushing themself forward and through the window, out of Jet’s storm and back into the building. 

They look around frantically, but they don’t see Jet--don’t see  _ anyone _ for that matter! They’re in a large room with sparse furniture: there’s a huge desk facing the windows, with a single chair, and a couple of screens on the walls, all currently off. The Better Living Industries logo is emblazoned on the desk, and on the single door leading from the room. Otherwise, the room is empty, undecorated.

They’ve never been in here before, never thought they  _ would _ be in here, but they can tell this is undoubtedly the Director’s office.

So where the hell is she? And where’s  _ Jet? _

“Why do you hesitate?”

The voice comes filtered through the door, muffled by the walls, but it’s a voice Party knows, a voice that’s been ingrained on their consciousness since they were a fucking  _ infant, _ a voice they’d thought they’d never hear again once they’d left the city behind, left the constant influx of ads and propaganda behind.

The Director of BL/ind.

They shove themself through the wall, pushing themself through a couple of desks and a shelf of some kind of electronics, and they find themself in a wide, open room.

The Director stands in front of a wall of monitors, flickering images of people and robotics and Draculoids and fire,  _ so much fire, _ her hands clenched at her sides, and in front of her stands Jet, his hand held out in front of him, palm down.

Jet looks like a  _ wreck _ . His curls are drooping and tangled, his mouth is curved into a snarl--an expression Party’s never even  _ imagined _ Jet wearing--his clothes are askew, ripped and burned and, oh  _ fuck, _ splattered with blood.

He looks like he’s been through hell and back, and if Party had access to their body right now, they’d feel their heart squeeze, they know, but as it is, they can only feel worried and angry. Why is there so much  _ blood? _ What  _ happened _ to him?

“Because I need to know,” Jet says, bringing Party’s attention back to the conversation. “I need to know why you did it. Why did you--? The stronghold.” The lines on Jet’s forehead deepen, his eyebrows pulling tighter together. “Why did you make me--?”

“Destroy it?” The Director raises her chin, and, fuck,  _ what? _ Jet destroyed a  _ stronghold? _ Are they hearing this right? 

Jet swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing, and then he tightens his jaw, holds himself steady. “Right,” he says. “There was no reason for it. I mean--”

“To test the limits of your power,” the Director says, “and to rid ourselves of a nuisance.”

“But--they were  _ people!” _ Jet’s voice breaks on the word, and so does Party’s heart. “They were people, and I--and  _ you-- _ killed them!”

“Better Living Industries seeks only to better the lives of the citizens of Battery City. Those who choose to leave the city are no longer under our protection.”

“Don’t give me that shit!” Jet says, and Party sees the fingers of his outstretched hand twitch. “If you want what’s best for people, then why the hell do you put  _ kids _ in  _ cages? _ Why do you  _ brainwash _ people? Why do you  _ take _ people and force them to do what  _ you want?” _

“For the betterment of--”

“Don’t  _ give me that!” _ Jet shouts, and he reaches forward with both hands now, reaches out to grab her.

_ ‘Kobra!’ _ Party thinks, shoving themself forward, reaching, knowing they can’t touch Jet, knowing they can’t stop him or help him or  _ whatever, _ but--

There’s a flash of lightning, a burst of thunder.

Jet freezes, his hands dropping to his sides. He looks around wildly. “Party?” he calls. 

_ ‘Yes!’ _ Party thinks, knowing he can’t hear them. They reach forward, phantom hands hovering over his face, over his cheeks, wishing they could--

“Party,” Jet says again, softer this time. “If you’re really here, I need you to know that I--”

He’s distracted.  _ Party’s  _ distracted, and they don’t see it until it’s too late, don’t see the Director dart to the side and swipe something off a shelf, don’t see it until she’s pointing a  _ fucking gun _ at Jet, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it, they can’t jump in front of the blast, can’t use their telekinesis to throw the gun aside, they can’t do  _ anything _ except soundlessly scream as the bolt strikes Jet in the arm, sending him to his knees on the floor.

Jet gasps, or cries, or screams--Party doesn’t know, because they can’t hear, because the only thing they can focus on is that Jet’s down, Jet’s hurt, she’s pointing a gun at him and  _ she’s going to fire again! _

“You should have taken my offer, Jet Star,” the Director says. “Now you’ll die here, and Stef--”

“Don’t  _ call them that!” _ Jet bites out, and Party wants to take him in their arms, wants to take him out of harm's way, wants to be a million goddamn miles away from here, but they  _ can’t! _

The only thing they can do like this is  _ think  _ and  _ move _ and  _ observe, _ and they’ve never felt so useless, never needed to use their power so  _ bad. _

__ Jet’s going to die, Jet’s going to be fucking  _ killed _ right in front of them, and there’s  _ nothing _ they can do, there’s no way they can help, they’re just being forced to watch as the Director steps forward, and levels the gun at him again, as her finger shifts toward the trigger again, and Jet can’t die, Jet  _ won’t _ die, Party won’t let him  _ die! _

They scream again, inaudibly, and they feel something coursing through them, something they’ve only ever felt when they were attached to their body, and they reach out with their spirit hand and  _ twist, _ they  _ pull, _ put more effort into it than they ever have before, and the wall of monitors jumps free of the wall and crashes down on top of her, sparking and snapping and sizzling, and then that’s it.

She’s gone. Dead. Crushed beneath the screens.

Jet’s safe.

Thunder rolls, lightning flashes. Party feels  _ drained,  _ so drained, worse than they’d felt after their last visit to the city, but they can’t sleep because they just  _ used their goddamn telekinesis _ while they were  _ out of their body, _ what the  _ fuck, _ and also because, most importantly, Jet’s fuckin’  _ hurt! _

They push themself away from the fallen monitors and closer to him, looking him over, taking in his disheveled state, the blood oozing from his upper arm.

Jet laughs, a low, sad sound. “Party,” he says, and his voice cracks, rough and ragged. “Party. Now I  _ know _ you’re here, know you’re alive. Only someone like you could do that. You’re okay.”

_ ‘Of course I am,’ _ Party thinks, knows Jet can’t hear them, hopes Kobra isn’t too busy to pass along the message. _ ‘Of course I am, Jet, you could never hurt me.’ _

There’s a pause, and Jet’s face crumples, and he reaches up with his opposite hand to grip at his wound. “I hurt so many people, Party,” he says. “I--they showed me what I’d done. After re-education. I hurt--I  _ killed _ so many people, Party. So many.”

Party leans closer, one ghostly hand hovering near Jet’s face, the other over his hand, their fingers phasing into his. Jet’s staring straight ahead, looking  _ through _ him, and all they want to do is hug him, hold him.

_ ‘This wasn’t your fault,’ _ Party thinks, because whatever happened, that was because he was fuckin’  _ brainwashed, _ okay, they’ve  _ seen _ Jet before. He didn’t even wanna fight to defend himself from Rabbit! If he  _ really _ destroyed an entire stronghold, it’s not his fault!

Jet laughs again, and there are tears in his eyes. “I know,” he says. “I  _ know _ it wasn’t my fault. It’s BL/ind’s fault, BL/ind--” he cuts himself off, shakes his head, and Party leans forward until their foreheads are touching, until their foreheads  _ would _ be touching. They can’t feel it,  _ he _ can’t feel it, but Party likes to think maybe he knows they’re there, knows they’re doing their best to comfort him, to show him their love.

Jet takes a shuddering breath, and his eyes fall closed. Calmer, Party thinks.

_ ‘Resigned,’ _ Kobra sends.

Party doesn’t even have time to process that before Jet says, in a quiet voice, “I have to bring the building down..”

_ ‘What?!’ _ Party startles, pulling back to look Jet in the face. His eyes are still closed. Party’s hand passes through his, passes through the floor to hang down at their side.  _ ‘Jet, what the hell?!’ _ they ask, because while they’re definitely not opposed to taking down a BL/ind building, especially  _ this _ BL/ind building, it seems a little out of character for Jet to suggest. 

“I have to, Party,” Jet says a moment later. He opens his eyes, and Party studies them, looks into those beautiful brown eyes, now bloodshot and more than just misty, tries to discern what he’s feeling, what he  _ needs. _ “BL/ind is  _ evil, _ Party. You know that. We can’t--we can’t just let them keep going like this. We can’t let them hurt anyone else.”

_ ‘The Director’s dead, Jet,’  _ Party thinks, frantic.  _ ‘She’s dead, she--BL/ind can’t run without her, she’s the one who gives all the orders! We’ve won, Jet, okay, we’re done!’ _

__ “No,” Jet says, and grips the wound in his arm again, wincing. “The Director was right, earlier. She said--she said if I killed her, the company would continue. And she’s right, Party. Kobra. Without her...someone will take her place. She’s not the first Director, Party, you  _ know _ this! There’s--the whole thing goes too far back. There’s always someone waiting in the wings to take over, and when the next DIrector steps up, everything will keep on, like it always has. People hurt, people dying, people--” he stops, shakes his head. He lets go of his wounded arm, lifts his other hand, the palm covered in red--covered in a combination of Party’s hair dye and his own blood--and holds it out in front of him, palm out.

Party lifts their own hand and places it against Jet’s, lining their fingers up, willing him to  _ feel _ it, to  _ know _ they’re here, to know they love him and want him to get out of here  _ alive! _

Jet smiles, and his fingers twitch. “I know you’re here, Party,” he says. The smile fades just a little, but far too much. “I can control it better now,” he says. “My power. I have to gesture, like you and your brother. I didn't know that until I saw myself do it, while I was destroying an entire stronghold, all the people that lived there.” The smile is entirely gone now, and if Party had a heart in this form, it’d be beating out of their chest.

_ ‘Jet,’ _ they think.  _ ‘Jet, Jet, Jet,  _ no. _ That wasn’t you, that wasn’t  _ you!’

There’s a long period of silence this time, and Party waits, terrified, hopeful. Jet’s expression doesn’t change, except to grow more tearful.

“It doesn’t have to all be destruction,” he murmurs, ducking his head, “but sometimes...sometimes, it does.”

 

\----------

 

Kobra and Ghoul wait just inside the building, helping the rebels to fight their way out. They stand close together, Ghoul’s shoulder pressed against Kobra’s upper arm, the two of them moving only to use their powers.

It’s difficult to concentrate on Party’s thoughts, on Jet’s words from seven floors away, with all the activity around them.

The exterminators were easy enough to deal with, between the two of them. The few superheroes they’ve encountered were more difficult, but power suppressors are readily available, and the rebels are more than happy to help render them powerless, so they’ve made due.

The remaining BL/ind agents, those who choose to fight rather than flee, are little to no trouble for the other rebels themselves, either.

There must be hundreds of rebels here, mostly city rebels, along with the sixty or so they’ve managed to break free of their cells.

Show Pony skates for the door, one leg swinging up in an elegant arc to clock a BL/ind agent in the jaw with their heavy skate. Kobra’s impressed, despite the gravity of the situation at hand. Pony would make a hell of a teammate, if they weren’t constantly picking on Ghoul.

But he’s letting himself get distracted.

Party’s thinking desperately about wanting Jet to know that they’re there, so he passes on the message, hoping the knowledge will make Jet rethink his batshit stupid plan.

A plan that Kobra hates to think might be the best plan, in terms of stopping BL/ind.

Someone in white rushes at them; Ghoul hurls a chunk of thick plastic at them from the wall behind him, and they drop to the floor, out cold. 

Kobra reaches down and squeezes Ghoul’s hand in thanks.

Jet’s getting sad again, and angry. The brief burst of happiness and gratitude has faded.

_ ‘Jet,’ _ Party thinks, terrified, frantic.  _ ‘Jet, Jet, Jet,  _ no. _ That wasn’t you, that wasn’t  _ you!’

_ ‘Jet,’ _ Kobra thinks,  _ ‘Party knows it wasn’t you, just like I know, just like  _ you _ know. You don’t have to do this, Jet, there’s other  _ ways--’

And then Jet’s taking Kobra’s own words and twisting them, turning them back on him, and Kobra thinks he might break Ghoul’s fingers from how hard he’s squeezing his hand.

_ ‘I have to do this, Kobra,’ _ Jet thinks.  _ ‘I’m the only one who can make sure that everything is destroyed, that none of BL/ind’s tools or information survives. And I have to do it from inside. It’s the only way, Kobra.’ _

_ ‘Jet, hold on, wait,’ _ Party thinks.  _ ‘I’ll go jump in my body, I’ll come get you, okay, we can leave here, you don’t have to do this’ _

And after Kobra passes on the sentiment, Jet comes back with,  _ ‘No. No, they can’t, they need to leave! You all need to leave, please, just let me do this.’ _

__ _ ‘You’ll die,’  _ Kobra thinks, and he thinks it  _ hard. ‘Jet, if you do this, if you bring the whole goddamn building down while you’re on the top floor, you _ will die.  _ You  _ know _ that, Jet. Please.’ _

__ _ ‘Get everyone out,’ _ Jet thinks back. Harsh. Determined. Resigned.

Nothing anyone says can change his mind. And his plan  _ will _ work, it  _ is _ their best chance, the best way to save themselves, to save  _ everyone _ in the long run, but--

But Kobra doesn’t want to lose Jet.

He’d thought he’d lost Ghoul, thought he’d lost Party. He can’t stand the thought of losing anyone else. 

_ ‘Fine,’ _ he thinks, hating himself for the word.  _ ‘Fine, Jet. Do it. Do what you’ve gotta do.’ _

__ _ ‘Thank you.’ _ Relief, from Jet.

_ ‘I’m not leaving him!’ _ Party sends,  _ forces _ into Kobra’s mind.

_ ‘Then don’t,’ _ Kobra thinks, and sends them his plan.

 

\---------

 

_ ‘Everyone’s out,’ _ Kobra sends, just a few minutes later.  _ ‘We’re out, the only people left inside are BL/ind.’ _

__ _ ‘Thank you,’ _ Jet thinks. He sucks in a deep breath and staggers to his feet. His arm  _ hurts; _ the ray gun blast itself was like a high-voltage shock, and the wound is throbbing, searing like he’s been stabbed, like he’s been burned. It’s not the worst thing he’s ever felt, not even  _ today, _ but it still  _ hurts, _ still makes it difficult to move. 

Once he’s on his feet, he glances at the pile of electronic bits and pieces scattered across the floor around him. He’d thought that Party couldn’t use their telekinesis unless they were in their body, but apparently, that isn’t the case. Maybe they’ve both learned new things about their powers today. 

And now the Director is dead, buried underneath her own company’s tech.

Will that be him, soon? Crushed beneath the building he spent a decade working in, living in? 

“Party,” he says, staring straight ahead. As long as they’re still here, they’ll move to look at him, he thinks. He hopes. Because this thing he’s about to say is pretty important, and might be the last thing he ever says to Party, to  _ anyone, _ and he wants his words to have the necessary impact. 

He wishes he could say this while looking into Party’s eyes, wishes he could hold their hands in his, kiss the freckles beneath their eyes, but. Well. They’re out of here now. They’re outside, where it’s safe.

“Party,” he says again. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t wait for Kobra to pass on the message, just keeps talking. “I’m sorry we only got to spend a month together. I’m sorry I only got to love you for such a short time. I love you, Party. I love you... _ so much.” _ Jet takes a shuddering breath, doesn’t respond to Kobra’s thoughts in his own head.

“Thank you,” he continues. “Thank you for taking me in, for trusting me, for teaching me--teaching me about my power, about  _ me, _ about freedom and love and family and--” he chokes, clears his throat. “Thank you for everything. I love you. I wish--wish we could have had more time together. But I’m so,  _ so _ grateful for the time we’ve had together.”

Jet walks into the center of the room, the center of the top floor of Better Living Headquarters. This is it. The last time he’ll use his power, the only time he’ll have really used it for  _ good. _

He closes his eyes.

This past month has meant more to him than his entire life has. Even when his father was alive, he never really experienced  _ family _ the way he now knows it.

Jet lifts up his arm, his injured arm. It hurts, it’s a struggle, his arm is shaking, but he manages to lift it.

He wishes he could have more time with them. Kobra, with his stoic exterior, with the heart of gold he keeps hidden behind it. Ghoul, with his intense empathy, his devotion to those who’ve earned his trust and complete disregard for those who haven’t.

Party, with their heart full of love and their ability to be so completely and unrelentingly  _ themself, _ the way they always seem to know when he’s upset, the way they always know just the perfect way to comfort him. The way they hold him, the way they smile, the way they look at him, the sparkle in their eyes and the way they tilt their head back when they laugh….

_ ‘Tell Party to leave, please,’ _ he sends to Kobra.  _ ‘Tell them not to watch, please, I don’t want them to see this.’ _

And then he swallows, and he focuses, and he clenches his fist.

 

\----------

 

The building crumbles inwards, bricks and pipes and wires ripping and tearing and falling, spilling down in a cloud of smoke and dust and a shower of sparks.

The sound is horrific, screeching and groaning, metal scraping against metal, cement shattering. 

It seems to take both an instant and an age before the whole building is nothing but a pile of rubble in the center of Battery City, smoking ruins the only thing left of the corporation that caused so much suffering for so many, for so long.

Kobra Kid, standing over a block away, watches it all with trepidation. Beside him, Fun Ghoul holds his hand, and the girl bounces on her toes, her head full of wonder and fear.

Laying on the ground at his feet, Party Poison suddenly comes to life with a gasp.

“We have to go,” they say, jumping to their feet. “We have to go--Jet, he’s--Kobra, he--!” They don’t finish their statement, instead turning and running straight for what’s left of the building.

And Kobra doesn’t even need to read minds to know what Party’s saying.

He runs after them, with Ghoul at his side.

 

\----------

 

The first thing Jet’s aware of is the fact that it’s incredibly dark.

So dark, in fact, that he can’t see  _ anything _ .

Is this the afterlife? he wonders. If so, the afterlife is pretty boring. Party and Ghoul won’t be happy to learn this.

The next thing he’s aware of is the sound of voices, or  _ a _ voice, muffled far too much for him to make out what’s being said, or who’s saying it.

He listens carefully and turns his head toward the sounds, trying to pinpoint them. He takes a step toward the voice and runs his hands across what feels like rough stone, or concrete. His arm aches at the motion. That’s weird. Are you  _ supposed _ to feel pain when you’re dead? He’d kind of thought you weren’t.

_ ‘You’re not dead, dumbass,’ _ Kobra thinks to him, and,  _ oh. _

_ ‘I’m alive?’ _ he thinks back, feeling around himself. There’s not much space--he’s surrounded by broken shards of metal and plastic. He’s  _ inside _ the ruined building? And unscathed, aside from his earlier ray gun wound. 

_ ‘Thank Party for that,’ _ Kobra sends.  _ ‘They kept your idiot self from gettin’ crushed.’ _

There’s a pinprick of light above him, suddenly, and Jet’s gaze snaps to it.

The light grows bigger and bigger as the hole widens, and then--

Party’s there, their red hair unbound and on full display, shining like a halo around their face.

They reach down, and Jet reaches up and grips their hands, feeling like he’s in a dream.

They haul him out, and study him. They’re both standing atop a pile of rubble--all that’s left of the building, he realizes. He blinks, adjusting to the light.

“I’m alive,” he says, wonderingly.

Party, in front of him, laughs, loudly and abruptly, leaping forward and wrapping their arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Jet wraps his own arms around their waist, holds them close, secure.

“You’re alive!” Party shouts, and then they pull back and level him with a glare. “Don’t you  _ ever _ fucking do anything that goddamn  _ stupid _ ever again!” they exclaim. “If I hadn’t figured out how to use my telekinesis in spirit form, you  _ would _ be dead, you stupid asshole!”

“Sorry,” Jet says, and he means it. He grins at Party, giddiness bubbling in his chest, and then he tightens his hold on their waist, lifts them up and spins them around, laughing. They’re alive. They’re  _ alive! _ They did it!

“We did it!” Jet exclaims, and immediately stumbles over a chunk of broken plastic.

He narrowly manages to catch himself and keep them both from tumbling off the mountain of rubble, and Party laughs, too, gripping onto the lapels of his jacket.

“We did it,” Party agrees, looking at him with the biggest, sappiest grin Jet’s ever seen.

And Jet can’t hold himself back anymore, doesn’t  _ want _ to hold himself back ever again. He leans down those scant few inches and captures Party’s lips with his own, kisses them hard, trying to put all his relief and joy and  _ love _ into it.

And Party kisses back, their hands moving up to grip the sides of his face and pull him closer, leaning back and pressing up so their torsos are flush against each other.

All around, a cheer goes up, hundreds--maybe  _ thousands- _ -of voices raising up, and Jet breaks the kiss to look around.

They’re surrounded on all sides by people, rebels and citizens alike, cheering and clapping and stomping, excitement and joy emanating from each of them. He’s never seen anything like it.

At the base of the ruined building, Kobra and Ghoul stand hand-in-hand, looking up at them with grins on their faces. The girl stands between them, her hands in the air, her head thrown back to cheer with the crowd. Anna and Luca stand just behind Ghoul, their arms around each other, one of Luca’s hands resting on Ghoul’s shoulder.

He sees Show Pony, and Monster Alarm, and Kiwi Blast and Fruit Punch and Wild Strawberry and Coastal Cooler, Limelight and Sideshow, all watching them and laughing and cheering and  _ dancing, _ dancing in the streets of Battery City!

For a moment, Jet thinks he catches a glimpse of Apparition in the crowd, running scared in the opposite direction, but she disappears before he can be sure, and he thinks it’s probably just his mind playing tricks on him.

He looks at Party again, looks at their eyes and their freckles and their hair and their smile, all so perfect, all so wonderful.

“BL/ind’s gone, Jet,” they say. “You’re free. Forever.”

“We’re all free,” he says, and kisses them again, kisses them with everything he has as the crowd roars around him.

The future looks bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there we have it. 😊
> 
> thank you so much for sticking with me and reading through to the end. i hope this conclusion was as satisfying to read as it was for me to write. 💖
> 
> the design for Apparition's rebel disguise was inspired by tumblr user jetstairs' art of her! ( http://jetstairs.tumblr.com )  
> ART: https://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/186938215411/theres-no-response-because-partys-dead  
> look at those EXPRESSIONS, that DRAMATIC LIGHTING. jet and kobra are clearly heartbroken. 👀
> 
> next week i'll be posting the epilogue, and then this fic is officially FINISHED!! i'll have a long thank-you note to write at the end of that, lmao.
> 
> if you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to leave kudos or a comment!! i'd love to know your thoughts!!


	26. Epilogue: Well I Sure Like the Way You're Looking at Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of one story, and the start of something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Week 34!! Tomorrow I'll be a quarter of a century old! :0c
> 
> BIGGEST of thank yous to my zucchini ace (funkobraofficial on tumblr) for beta-reading! I love you so much. 💖  
> we have two new pieces of art from last chapter this week!! links in the end notes! 😄
> 
> please enjoy the final installment! 😘

Jet awakens, soft and warm, to find the bedroom already filled with the golden light of morning. He shifts, and stretches a little, and turns over in bed to face Party lying beside him.

Party hasn’t woken up yet, but that’s not unusual. Jet looks them over, feels that light, fluttery feeling he gets in his chest every morning.

They’re lying on their back, their limbs spread out, one arm dangling off the bed. Their head is tilted back and to the side, mouth open slightly as they snore quietly. Jet smiles, and scoots closer, pressing a kiss against their cheek.

Party snorts a little, turning over and nuzzling into their pillow.

Jet reaches over and gently runs his fingers down Party’s arm, stroking from shoulder to hand and back up again. They mumble something, and stretch, and then slowly open their eyes, squinting at him. They spit out a lock of red hair that’s found its way into their mouth and murmur a rough, quiet, “G’mornin’.”

They’re so beautiful.

“Mornin’, Party,” Jet says, and kisses a line from Party’s collarbone up to the corner of their mouth. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Mm.” Party tilts their face closer and kisses him more fully. Their hand finds its way into his hair, holding him against them, and he doesn’t protest. “Real good,” they say, pulling back just enough to speak, their lips still touching his. “How ‘bout yourself, gorgeous?” 

Jet kisses them instead of answering, wrapping an arm around their waist to pull them flush against him. He hums into their mouth, rolls them both so that he can press them into the bed, kiss their neck.

“So,  _ real _ good, huh?” Party asks with a pleased chuckle. “Fuck, Jet. We don’t gotta be anywhere this mornin’, right?”

Jet shakes his head, curls spilling around him, and Party’s about to kiss him again when they both come to the same realization at the same time.

“Fuck,” Party says, eyes widening, and Jet freezes above them. “Today’s the goddamn  _ commitment ceremony!” _

“Oh my god,” Jet says, rolling off of them and barely catching himself before he falls off the bed. “Fuck, the sun’s already up, what  _ time _ is it?”

Party scrambles out from underneath the covers, sending pillows flying everywhere as they lower themself to the floor. “Fuck if I know,” they cry, hurrying over to the closet. “But we  _ absolutely _ overslept and, oh my  _ god, _ everyone’s gonna beat us there, Jet, hurry, get  _ dressed!” _

Jet rushes to catch up with Party, grabbing the clothes he’d picked out yesterday--his favorite hawaiian shirt and the jeans with all the little shiny rhinestones on them--and tugging them on. “I mean, they can’t really start  _ without _ us, can they?”

“Jet, all our friends are assholes. Of fucking  _ course _ they’d start without us!” Party pulls their own shirt over their head and stares at him. “Fuck, you wanted me to braid your hair this mornin’, damn it, do we even have  _ time _ for that?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just wear it down, it’s not a big deal.” Jet crams his feet into his boots.

“But it’s finally  _ long enough _ to braid and it’s, like, the  _ most _ special occasion!” Party whines, putting their own shoes on.

“Oh my god, Party, if you wear those you’ll sink into the sand,” he says, eyeing the spiky black heels in Party’s hand.

“Babe, you  _ know _ I can handle literally any ensemble without problem,” they say, winking. “Plus, they make my legs look fuckin’  _ killer.” _

“Okay, yeah, that’s true, but  _ still--” _

A knock at the door cuts him off. “Are you idiots awake, or do I have to get the pots an’ pans again?”

“We’re up!” Jet and Party call simultaneously. Jet hurries over and opens the door to find the Girl standing there, already dressed and with her own curls tied back with a colorful scarf. She’s holding a skillet in one hand and a saucepan in the other, frowning at him.

“You lucked out,” she tells him. “Now hurry up, or we’re gonna be  _ late.” _

“We’re comin’!” Party says, stepping up beside Jet. He looks them over, tries not to let his jaw hit the floor. Party  _ always _ looks good, whether they’re dressing up for an event or sweating through rumpled clothing in the sun after working all day, but the combination of a lacy tank top, leather skirt, and tight jeans might be one of his favorite looks on them. Plus, the high heels they’re wearing put them at Jet’s height, or maybe a little taller, and it’s just….

_ Very _ nice.

Party arches an eyebrow at him and smirks. He grins back.

The Girl clears her throat, and they both look back at her. She rolls her eyes. “The commitment ceremony?”

“Oh!” Party pushes past them both and out into the hall, their heels clicking against the tile as they rush into the main part of the diner. “Fuck, where the shit are our  _ paints?” _

“I put ‘em in the car last night,” Jet reminds them, following behind the Girl. “I don’t think we need anything else, right? We can leave now?”

“You’re both  _ hopeless,” _ the Girl says, laughing. She narrows her eyes at Jet. “Weren’t you gonna braid your hair today?”

“Yeah, but we don’t have time,” Jet says, pushing the two of them out the front door and into the sun. “It’s fine, I won’t worry about it.”

“I’ll do it in the car,” she says, and goes back into the diner.

Jet groans, and sighs, and takes Party’s hand to lead them carefully toward the Trans Am. They have to walk carefully to keep from stumbling in the loose sand.

By the time they’re all in the car and driving away from the diner, they’re  _ definitely _ late.

“Fuck,” Party says, frowning at the dashboard. “Should I telekinesis it?”

“No,” Jet says, wincing. “Ow, ah--careful, Peaches,  _ please _ don’t yank my hair out, it’s  _ finally _ the length I like it!”

“Wouldn’t yank if Par would slow the fuck down,” the Girl grumbles, but she does make her movements gentler.

“Thank you,” Jet sighs, and then addresses Party once more. “If you use your power on the car, it’ll get out of control, and I don’t think we wanna run down all the guests. That’s probably the  _ worst _ omen anyone’s commitment day, y’know?”

Party snorts. “Like  _ you _ believe in omens,” they say. “But, fine. If we’re super late an’ all our friends come after us with, like, pitchforks though, that’s on  _ you.” _

“Yeah, okay.” The hair on the back of Jet’s neck tugs as the Girl tightens the braid. “How’s it goin’ back there?” he asks.

“Ya need some more color,” the Girl says behind him, and Jet glances down at himself, at his bright multi-colored and -patterned shirt. “Uh, I think I’m okay on that front, kiddo,” he says.

She huffs at him. “I mean in your  _ hair, _ dumbass,” she says, and he feels her slip a barrette into his hair.

“Oh,” he says, smiling. “Yeah, sure. Go wild.”

“How come  _ he _ gets to wear your sparkly butterfly clips and I  _ don’t?” _ Party whines.

“‘Cause he’s cooler than you.”

Jet laughs at Party’s indignant squawk, and when he looks out the window again, he can see people and cars in the distance. “Oh,” he says, pointing. “See? We’re here!”

“Oh, thank  _ fuck,” _ Party says, speeding toward the gathering. “Looks like they haven’t started the ceremony yet!”

“Told you they wouldn’t start without us,” Jet says. As they near the group, Jet can count a couple dozen cars and motorcycles, as well as Dr. D’s van. This stretch of desert wouldn’t look any different from the rest of the desert, if not for all the vehicles and people standing around in groups, and if Jet hadn’t spent so much time out here working on mastering his power.

The Girl slips one last clip into Jet’s hair as Party parks the car and shuts off the engine. “Done!” she announces, passing him her little handmirror. “Whaddaya think?”

Jet looks at his reflection, tilting the mirror this way and that. There are little plastic butterflies clipped all over his scalp and in the simple, three-strand braid trailing down his neck. Some of his hair’s been missed, and hangs haphazardly around his face, but that really just adds to the chaotic effect he’s grown to love and embrace. “Looks  _ perfect, _ thanks kid,” he says, handing the mirror back with a grin.

“Great, great, ya made my boyfriend look fuckin’  _ fantastic, _ thanks Girlie, now lets go find the fuckin’ grooms before they get hitched,” Party says, pulling everyone out of the car.

“Bet I can find ‘em first,” the Girl says, and, grabbing the little basket of paints he’d put together for her, she sprints off toward a group of ten or so people.

Jet chuckles to himself. Sometimes he forgets that she’s only nine years old; other times it’s far too easy to remember.

Party slips their hand into his, and he glances over at them. They grin. “Ya gotta help me walk,” they say, “or I’ll fall on my ass.”

Jet snorts, curling his arm around their waist. “Wouldn’t want that,” he says. “I warned you about these heels!” He picks up his and Party’s own basket of paints and things with his other hand.

“Shut up,” Party says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not gonna dress down  _ today  _ of all days!”

They make their way further into the throng of people, and it seems like they really are the last to arrive; all of their friends are here, Jet’s pretty sure, and he’s pleased to see several people he hasn’t seen in a while. Even with gas and other supplies more readily available now, it’s still tough sometimes to find the time to travel all the way across the desert just to visit someone.

They’ve all been through a lot in the past few months, struggling to rebuild and re-establish their communities after the fall of BL/ind, but mostly it’s been amazing. No one’s under BL/ind’s thumb anymore.

“Hey, assholes!”

Jet laughs, turning toward Monster and Kiwi. “Hey!” he says. “You made it! The others here, too?”

Monster snorts, striding up to them with her arm draped around Kiwi’s neck. Kiwi’s looking better today, Jet notices; his time in re-education, though short, had affected his mental health pretty badly. But he doesn’t seem too jittery today, instead beaming at him and Party.

“Ya don’t really think  _ my _ gang’d miss somethin’ like  _ this, _ do ya?” Monster asks. “Fruitsy an’ Coast’re big ol’ romantic saps, Kiwi here’s a  _ sucker _ for any kinda celebration--”

“This is true,” Kiwi says, nudging Monster with a little grin.

“--Strawberry likes to people watch, an’  _ I _ like to go anyplace with hot girls an’ food,” Monster concludes. 

“Somethin’ for everyone, huh?” Party says, smirking. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Man...just can’t believe today’s  _ the _ day, y’know?” She grins, revealing her chipped tooth.

Party drapes their arm over Jet’s shoulders, mirroring Monster’s and Kiwi’s pose. “I have been goddamn  _ waitin’ _ for this day for  _ years!” _ they say proudly. “Where the hell are they, anyway?”

Monster rolls her shoulders, and Kiwi pokes her in the side. “Around,” she says, poking Kiwi back.

“You know,” Kiwi says, looking between Party and Jet. “Me an’ Monster were thinkin’ of havin’ a commitment ceremony.”

“Uh,” says Jet, confused. “...Weren’t you already...committed to each other…?” 

Monster laughs. “I mean,  _ technically,” _ she says. “‘S not like I’m gonna up an’ abandon ‘im, y’know? But we haven’t had a fuckin’  _ party _ or nothin’!”

“Yeah,” says Kiwi. “We want a party! Make all our friends celebrate us.”

“Maybe you’ll be the next, then,” Jet says with a grin. He really had thought they’d already had a commitment ceremony, with how close they are, but then, he supposes, a commitment ceremony isn’t really that important out here. Maybe it’s important to the people who choose to have one, but it isn’t legally binding, like a wedding; it’s a celebration of love, in all the ways that weddings in Battery City weren’t. “Oh,” he says. “Right. We need to find the grooms!”

“Oh. Think Ghoul went off with his parents or somethin’,” Monster says. “Dunno where Kobra went, though.”

“Okay,” says Jet, waving to them with his free hand. “Thanks. See ya guys later!”

“Yeah, bye, Jet!” Kiwi says, waving back. “Bye, Party! See ya after! We gotta go find Strawberry an’ make ‘em have some fun, anyway.”

Jet and Party continue on. “Should we just think at Kobra and ask where he is?” Jet asks. “I mean, it’s his  _ wed- _ -er, commitment ceremony. Shouldn’t he and Ghoul be easy to find?”

“They’re prob’ly off makin’ out somewhere or somethin’,” Party says, wrinkling their nose. “I don’t wanna interrupt  _ that. _ I’ll never be able to get it out of my  _ mind, _ god it’d be  _ awful.” _

“Like Kobra hasn’t heard worse from  _ your _ head,” Jet teases. “I think Ghoul and I got the best deal, as far as powers go.”

“You’re right,” Party says. “Me an’ Kobes got the  _ worst _ deal, ‘cause not only do we have weird brain-an’-voyeurism powers, but we’re fuckin’  _ siblings, _ and-- _ yuck!” _ They make a face, and Jet grins.

Then,  _ “Oof!” _

Party stumbles forward as someone slams into their back, and Jet barely manages to keep them upright.

“You made it!” Limelight says excitedly, helping to steady Party as Party and Jet turn to face them. “Thought maybe you two were gonna skip or somethin’!”

Party scoffs. “Like I’d miss my own  _ brother’s _ goddamn  _ commitment ceremony, _ Lime!” they say, folding their arms over their chest. 

“Right,” Jet agrees. “Even if we wanted to, I think the whole desert would come after us if we did. Anyway, haven’t seen you in a while! How’s the rebuild doing?”

“Great!” Limelight says, eyes lighting up. “Think we finally ferreted out the last of the agents, and we’ve got the factories producin’ actual useful shit now, like those water purifiers you asked for!”

“Really?” Jet grins. “Those’ll really help the strongholds out here. Most of the available water isn’t safe to drink, and--”

They wave a hand. “I know, I know, ya gave the whole spiel last time we talked, remember?” They wink at him. “Anyway, today’s not a day to talk business, ya know? Think I saw the Girl hangin’ on Kobra a minute ago if you’re lookin’ for either of ‘em.”

“Oh shit, she  _ did _ beat us!” Party says, pouting. “Damn. We gotta find Ghoul before she gets  _ him, _ too!” They grab Jet’s wrist and storm into another throng of people, tugging him behind them, stumbling only a little bit in their shoes. Jet barely manages to wave a goodbye to Limelight before they disappear from view.

_ “Fuck _ the sand,” Party says under their breath after catching themself a third time, and Jet laughs. 

“Shut up,” they say, louder. “Do I criticize  _ your _ fashion sense, Mr. Eyesore?” 

“Yes,” Jet says, and tugs them closer to kiss their cheek. “All the time. I just don’t want you twistin’ an ankle or somethin’ on your brother’s big day.”

“Hey, Ma!”

Jet looks up at the exclamation and spots Ghoul running past, something clutched in one hand. 

“Oh my god,” Party says quietly. “What the fuck is that little gremlin doin’  _ now?” _

They watch as Ghoul races up to Anna and tosses a handful of sand down the back of her shirt. Anna gasps in protest, and turns around to grab him, but Ghoul’s too quick for her. He dodges under her arm and runs for Jet and Party.

“Hide me!” he says gleefully, pushing between them to hide behind Jet’s back. “Don’t let ‘er get me!”

“C’mere, ya little brat!” Anna cries, charging forward and throwing herself behind Jet. Jet jumps out of the way, pulling Party with him, and turns around just in time to see Anna tackle her son into the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Sorry, Ghoul,” Jet says with a chuckle. “I’m not getting in the way of  _ Anna Gallo.” _

“Betrayal!” Ghoul cries from within the dust cloud. There’s a series of scuffling sounds, punctuated by shouts of laughter.

“Oh, come on, you two,” Luca says, stepping up on Party’s other side. “Anna, please, you’ll ruin his clothes.”

The dust settles down, and now Jet can make out Ghoul’s and Anna’s faces, laughing and grinning so widely their eyes crinkle up. They’re both covered in dirt, Ghoul’s clothes--consisting of a yellow jacket over a gray shirt and dark jeans--are askew, with a rip on one of the jacket’s seams.

Luca sighs, but he’s smiling. “Well,” he says, reaching out to help them both to their feet, “I guess it’s too late to worry about that.”

“He deserved it,” Anna says, leaning in to kiss Luca.

Ghoul turns to Jet and Party. “Ya made it! Either of ya seen my husband yet?”

“Can you  _ call _ him your husband if you haven’t actually done the ceremony yet?” Jet asks.

“Fuck you, this is the desert, I can do what I want.” Ghoul sticks his tongue out at them. “Now answer the  _ question!” _

“Haven’t seen ‘im. Think Girlie’s with ‘im, though,” Party says. They reach out and pull Ghoul into a headlock, digging their knuckles into his scalp and mussing his hair even further. Ghoul squeals and tries to wiggle out of their grip, but they hold on tight, and Jet can’t help but laugh. “Hey, hey, show me your tattoo! Your commitment tattoo! Show me the thing, ya tiny bastard!”

“Like I’d keep  _ this _ baby hidden!” Ghoul says as Party releases him. He thrusts his left hand out for both of them to see, and Jet leans in close to examine the thin black line encircling Ghoul’s ring finger.

It’s right at the base of the finger, where a wedding ring would be worn, and the skin around the tattoo is red and puckered. The tattoo itself isn’t much to look at, just black ink around the finger; but the line is crooked, and a little off. 

“Innit great?” Ghoul enthuses, and Jet notices that he’s also looking at the tattoo, a fond look in his eyes. “Kobes got nervous while he was doin’ it an’ the line turned out kinda wobbly. He was all embarrassed about it an’ shit, but like,  _ fuck! _ No one else’s got a tattoo like this! No one else could get that exact squiggle, y’know? Makes it  _ special. _ I shoulda made  _ his _ tattoo wobbly!”

Jet’s heard Ghoul ramble on about things like this before, though it doesn’t happen often; he only does it when he’s especially excited about something. Once he gave Jet a lecture on how the engine in the Trans Am worked. Another time he was listing out all the desert cryptids he could think of. And, well, the last month or so, all of his rants have been about Kobra. 

“Are you guys talkin’ about me?” Kobra says, and Jet turns to see Kobra walking toward them, the Girl’s hand clasped in his. Kobra’s wearing a similar outfit to Ghoul’s, but his jacket is green, and his gray shirt is cut short, revealing a few inches of his stomach. Kobra’s also wearing makeup, the black lipstick he likes so much.

_ “There _ ya are, Girlie,” Party says. She sticks her tongue out at them.

_ “Told _ ya I could find ‘em before you did,” she says.

“Ya only found  _ half _ of ‘em, kid,” Party says, sticking their own tongue out at her.  _ “We _ found Ghoul first,  _ an’ _ saw ‘im get his shit wrecked by his mom!”

“Ghoul,” Kobra says, looking him over. Jet sees the corner of his mouth twitch. “How the hell did you get dirt on  _ every inch _ of yourself in the span of, like, ten minutes?”

“That’s just my talent, Kobes,” Ghoul says, and the two of them hug, Kobra bending forward to kiss Ghoul’s lips.

“Don’t I know it,” Kobra says. He pulls back a bit and smiles, a wide grin stretching his mouth further than Jet’s ever  _ seen. _ “Ya ready, Ghoul?”

_ “Been _ ready, Kobes,” Ghoul says, leaning up to kiss him again. “Been so _ fuckin’ _ ready….”

“Well, everyone’s here,” Party says, bumping Jet’s shoulder with their own and linking their arms together. “Time to stop bein’ gross an’ start bein’  _ extra _ gross.”

Kobra snorts, pulling away from Ghoul just enough to look his sibling in the eye. “Like  _ you’re _ one to talk, with your arms all tangled around your boyfriend there.”

“He is  _ keeping _ me  _ upright!” _ Party protests.

“Yeah,” Jet says. “Look at their shoes. If I let go of ‘em, they’ll eat dirt and miss the whole thing.”

“Exactly!” Party says, and kisses Jet. They turn back to Kobra and Ghoul. “Anyway, when the fuck is this thing startin’, huh?”

“Right now,” says Ghoul. He latches onto Kobra and pulls himself up, climbing up Kobra until he’s seated on Kobra’s shoulders. Throughout the process, Kobra just keeps smiling. Almost  _ dopily, _ honestly, and Jet doesn’t think he’s ever described Kobra as  _ dopey _ before today. 

“Hey, assholes!” Ghoul shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Who’s ready for the show?”

There’s a collective cheer from all around, people on the outskirts of the gathering racing in closer, and those nearby turning to face them. Jet knows what’s going to happen now, has had it explained to him by Party, has listened to Kobra’s and Ghoul’s plans for over a month now, but that doesn’t stop the swell of excitement and anticipation in his chest.

Kobra helps Ghoul down from his shoulders, and the two stand side-by-side, hand-in-hand. Jet can see the tattoo on Kobra’s own ring finger, an exact match to Ghoul’s aside from the fact that his is straight and smooth.

Party and Jet step back to give them more room, a circle forming around the pair as everyone gathers to watch. Neither of them look nervous or anything other than  _ ecstatic. _ Jet’s sort of surprised, because he’d have thought Ghoul would be at least a  _ little _ worried about the crowd of people, and thought Kobra would be irritated by so many minds around him; but neither of them seem to care.

The Girl stands in front of Jet and Party, her little basket of paints clutched tightly in both hands. Jet cautiously releases his grip on Party so he can put one hand on her shoulder, holding his own basket of paints in his other hand. Someone steps up on his other side, and he glances over to see Show Pony, who winks at him.

“Fine day for a commitment ceremony, hm, Jet darling?” they say, running their fingers softly over his braid. “Did Little Miss Sugar do your hair today?”

“Yeah,” Jet says proudly, squeezing the Girl’s shoulder. “Looks great, right?”

“Absolutely stunning,” Pony says, beaming. They look down at the Girl. “Honey, you should come by my place sometime and give  _ me _ a makeover!”

“Maybe,” the Girl says, and Jet can tell she’s pleased. “Now, hush, the ceremony’s startin’!”

Jet turns his attention back to Ghoul and Kobra, who stand facing each other now, hands clasped together.

It’s time for the vows to begin.

“Ghoul,” says Kobra, smiling his dopey smile, “I love you. An’ I’m always  _ gonna _ love you. I loved you from the first time I ever heard you talk, with your scratchy-ass, underused voice, and I never stopped lovin’ you, through two years of desperate fuckin’  _ pining- _ -” he gets cut off by the laughter from the crowd, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Ghoul, just releases Ghoul’s hand to wave his middle finger at everyone and continues, “--and on through everything. Everythin’ we’ve been through, all the good times, the fuckin’... _ laughter, _ okay. And all the bad times, the fights and the fears...I’ve only loved you more every day.”

Jet reaches up to subtly wipe a tear from his eye. He must not be as subtle as he wants to be, though, because Party slips their arm around his waist and squeezes, giving him a little smile, their own eyes misty.

Ghoul’s turn is next. “Kobes,” he says, “you gushy goddamn  _ sap.” _

Everyone laughs again, and Jet lays his head against Party’s for just a moment.

“I fuckin’ love you, too,” he says, without a hint of embarrassment. “You’re the best goddamn thing that ever happened to me, an’ I’m gonna spend the rest’a my life makin’ sure you don’t forget that.” Ghoul blinks, and turns to look around at everyone. “And none’a you fuckers repeat that, got it?! Only  _ I _ get to talk about bein’ in love!”

More laughter, and Party lets out a hoot. “Yer  _ both _ saps!” they call.

Kobra still hasn’t looked away from Ghoul, and his smile has only widened. “I love you,” he says again, quieter, and Jet gets the feeling that this time, the sentiment is meant only for Ghoul, and Jet feels like he’s going to burst from how  _ sweet _ this all is.

Ghoul looks back at Kobra again, and there’s a short, silent pause, and then he  _ launches _ himself at Kobra, hands wrapping around the back of Kobra’s neck as he tugs him down, putting his wobbly commitment tattoo on full display. He pulls Kobra into a deep kiss, and Jet glances away, looks at Party.

Party’s watching them with more than a few tears in their eyes, smiling so widely Jet’s almost afraid they’ll hurt themself. The flutters come back, filling his chest and gut. Maybe one day it’ll be him and Party, out here with all their friends and family, kissing and holding each other and promising to love each other forever.

The thought sends a little thrill through him.

And then everyone’s clapping and cheering again, and Jet looks back at Kobra and Ghoul to see them cupping each other’s faces, smiling at each other.

“Alright, assholes!” Party calls, holding onto Jet’s arm with one hand. “Let’s get some color on these bastards!”

Jet doesn’t know who throws it first, but a spray of color arcs through the air, spattering across Ghoul’s and Kobra’s jackets, painting them both with blue.

They break apart, laughing, still holding hands, and embrace the storm of colors coming in from all sides.

Jet switches the basket of paints to his other hand so Party can also reach it, and he pulls out a tube of purple paint. With a shout of glee, he squeezes the tube, shooting a blast of purple that strikes Kobra right in the chest.

It doesn’t take long before the two are coated in twin rainbows of paint and dye and, courtesy of Pony and Fruitsy and probably one or two others, glitter.

At some point during the storm, Ghoul rips his jacket off and waves it overhead, letting the back and sides of his shirt get just as colorful as the front.

Party shoots a stream of their own Poison Red hair dye at them, striking Ghoul’s shirt and Kobra’s hair. Party laughs, and pours some of the dye into their hands. “Jet,” they say, and grab his hands.

Jet squeezes their hands, squishing the dye out the sides and coating both their hands in it. Party pulls one hand out of his and cups the side of his face, pressing a red handprint into his skin.

He beams at them, leans in and kisses them. Kobra and Ghoul will proudly wear the colors of their community for as long as it takes the paints and dyes to wear off, and Jet will proudly carry Party’s color with him for as long as they want him to wear it.

Kobra kisses Ghoul, the paints on their faces mixing and mingling as the color riot dies down.

One final color is added to the display, a splash of orange thrown by the Girl, painting the sleeves of both their jackets.

Everyone’s laughing and cheering, whooping and dancing. A breeze blows through, lifting their hair and sounding strangely, hauntingly musical. 

Someone pulls out an old guitar, and someone else brings forward a dented trumpet. They begin to play, and though they’re both out of tune, Jet can’t deny the joy he hears in their music.

More instruments join the mix, and voices as well. People begin to dance, or run up to congratulate Kobra and Ghoul with a handshake or a hug or a pat on the back, or wander over to the buffet table. They laugh and cheer and fill the desert with glee.

“Come on,” Party says, taking his hand. “Let’s eat, I’m fuckin’  _ starvin’.” _

“Shouldn’t we congratulate them first?” Jet asks, but he doesn’t try to stop Party as they pull him toward the table covered in food and drink.

“Nah,” they say. “We’ll catch ‘em later before they get back to their house. They know we love ‘em an’ we’re proud of ‘em, anyway. Now c’mon, I got a s’prise for ya!”

“A surprise?” he asks as they weave between the other guests. “Party, what’d you do?”

“Somethin’ good, I swe--” they’re cut off as their heel sinks into the sand, and they stumble forward, arms windmilling.

Jet grabs them and hauls them upright. “I warned you,” he says smugly, and Party smacks his shoulder.

“Shut up!” they say, “Or I’ll eat your surprise  _ myself!” _

“Oh, it’s a food?”

“‘Course it’s a  _ food, _ we’re goin’ to the  _ snack _ table, dumbass!”

He laughs, and Party pushes past Hot Chimp and Newsie, planting Jet right in front of the table.

“Okay,” he says, after shooting an apologetic glance at Newsie, “so what’s my surprise?”

_ “This!” _ Party says, and shoves an entire apple pie under his nose.

Jet blinks. “I,” he starts, and stops. He tries again. “Party. Is this a  _ homemade _ apple pie?”

“Sure as hell is!” Party says proudly. “Made it myself, just like I promised I would!”

“Oh my god,” Jet says, reaching out carefully to cradle the pie in both hands. “Party. I haven’t had an apple pie since I left the city!”

“I know,” Party says.  "I promised to make ya an apple pie, an’ I  _ finally _ fuckin’ came through!”

“You seriously made this yourself?” he asks, staring at the pie. The crust is golden brown and crispy, a little bit of the apple filling bursting out of the top, shiny and gold and no doubt  _ delicious. _

“‘Course I did!” Party says. “Well, Anna helped me with the pastry, but I did the filling myself!”

Jet sets the pie back on the table. He leans in and takes Party’s face in his hands, kisses them softly. “I love you,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me ‘til ya taste it!” Party says, putting their hands on his wrists. “You’re such a sap, you’re gonna give my brother a run for his carbons.”

“Yeah,” he says, and picks up a knife. “C’mon. Share a piece with me.”

He cuts a generous slice of pie and slides it onto the little plate Party holds out. They step away from the table to let other people eat, and make their way over to their car.

Party kicks off their shoes and hops up on the hood, patting the space beside them until Jet sits down, too. He picks up the fork and scoops up a bit of the pie, holds it out to Party; they shake their head.

“You first,” they say. “I made it for  _ you!” _

Jet takes a bite. It’s sweet, flavorful. The apples are cooked to perfection, the crust flakey. It’s the best goddamn pie he’s ever eaten.

“Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss behind their ear. “It’s delicious.”

“Only the best for the best goddamn boyfriend in the world,” Party says, beaming.

They share their pie, watching the crowd dance and mingle, Ghoul and Kobra in the middle of it all, coated in paint and lost in each other.

This is Jet’s family, his home. He knows they all have a lot more work to do, to repair their city and rebuild their communities after all the hardships caused by BL/ind, but seeing everyone like this, full of love and joy, showing off their colors for the whole world to see….

It just makes everything they’ve gone through worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ART! funkobraofficial drew an awesome companion piece to their previous piece: https://funkobraofficial.tumblr.com/post/187101344381/he-looks-at-party-again-looks-at-their-eyes-and  
> and beet-delinquent drew the starparty kiss from the end of last chapter! https://beet-delinquent.tumblr.com/post/187130477731/for-the-final-chapter-of-enby-partypoisons-fic
> 
> I want to use this space to thank everyone who's helped me to finish this fic. This is...the biggest thing I've ever written. The longest, the most meaningful, the story I'm most proud of. I would never have been able to finish this alone.
> 
> So, thank you Ace. I know I've thanked you in every previous chapter, but I seriously would never have gotten past the first few chapters without you. Your constant encouragement and support, your ideas and the art you created to accompany my writing...they helped more than I thought possible. I love you so much. You mean the world to me.  
> Thank you to the teenagers I accidentally adopted, Ace Jr and Ferr! I'm so glad we've been able to support and encourage each other. The danger days writer discord server was a great idea!!
> 
> Thank you to the friends I've made throughout the writing of this fic, here and on tumblr. To Pink, Lissy, Krys, Beet, Disco, Robin, Ax and everyone else. I appreciate all your encouragement and the excitement you've expressed throughout everything. Thank you.
> 
> Thank you to all you readers, as well. Those of you who comment every chapter, those of you who comment occasionally, those of you who never comment but read every week.Those of you who've been here since the beginning, those of you who just discovered this fic today, and everyone in between. Thank you so much for taking this journey with me.
> 
> Sorry for being so sappy in the notes, but this honestly means so much to me, just...finishing this, finishing something so big that's had so many people involved in it. Thank you. 💕
> 
> You can always get ahold of me at enby-partypoison.tumblr.com and I will always have anonymous asks on if you'd like to send me a message! If you enjoyed this chapter, or the fic as a whole, feel free to leave kudos or a comment! I'd love to know your thoughts, whether you're reading this the day it's published or ten years in the future. I always appreciate every comment 💖💖💖


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